


In the Good Old Summertime

by Crockzilla



Category: Deadpool - All Media Types, Spider-Man - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern: No Powers, Alternate Universe - No Powers, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Angst, BLM, Begging, Blow Jobs, Bottom Wade Wilson, Crossdressing, Crossdressing Kink, Daddy Kink, Dom/sub, Explicit Consent, Falling In Love, First Time, Friends to Lovers, Gay Pride, Genderfluid Character, Judy Garland - Freeform, Light BDSM, Lingerie, Love, M/M, Orgasm Delay, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Origin Story, Peter the Accidental Super Dom, Slow Burn, Social Justice, Stiletto Heels
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-05-22
Updated: 2018-10-12
Packaged: 2019-05-10 04:27:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 15
Words: 64,422
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14729937
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crockzilla/pseuds/Crockzilla
Summary: Peter Parker works four jobs and is generally angry at the state of the world. Then he meets a veteran with radical notions about social justice. And they both love Judy Garland.





	1. Zing Zing Zing Went My Heart Strings

**Author's Note:**

  * For [notlucy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Proprietary Information](https://archiveofourown.org/works/11964402) by [notlucy](https://archiveofourown.org/users/notlucy/pseuds/notlucy). 



> This is my long-form no-powers spideypool AU set in notlucy's Proprietary Information universe! 
> 
> This story is a prequel and will involve only a few characters from Proprietary Info. I just really loved the way she described these two, and she is lovely and has let me write all about them. You don't need to have read PI or the "Dinner with Friends" time-stamp to enjoy this story, but you should!
> 
> I'm using characters from Ultimates and X-Men and I'll just keep adding characters and tags as they come up -- it's a Marvel collage party.
> 
> Work title and chapter titles are all taken from Judy Garland movies.
> 
> Explicit rating is for later chapters.
> 
> Bless my sweet beta, QQI25. (Go read all of their stuff go go go)

Police murdering people of color. President being horrible. Net neutrality. Sexual abuse.

Peter must have sighed out loud because Wanda looked up at him from where she was scanning through her own newsfeed. “Stop.”

“Yeah.” Peter scanned past a few more horrific headlines before setting his phone screen-down and unwrapping his sandwich. It was cling-film, which would never decompose, and he’d bought something wrapped in it and contributed to killing the earth a little faster. Goddamnit.

For all her chastising him, Wanda sighed as she set down her own phone. The thirty minutes that they carved out for lunch was the only time of day they were allowed to check their newsfeeds. Their therapist had suggested it – well, Wanda’s therapist, since she had benefits through her fancy corporate job, but she had relayed the advice to Peter and they’d both agreed it would be good for their mental health.

“So?” Wanda asked as she opened her salad (which was in a compostable bowl but had a plastic lid because that made sense). “What’s your Good One?”

Peter shrugged, pulling the crusts off his sandwich and saving them in the awful cling-film. “Stonewall Anniversary is coming up and there’s a big push to recognize how trans women actually started gay pride, not cis white dudes.”

“No, that was my Good One!” Wanda protested, but she laughed, and Peter found himself joining in.

“Did you know that the riots started the day after Judy Garland’s funeral?” Wanda raised an eyebrow as she chewed her arugula. “Some people think that’s what kind of set everybody off,” Peter continued, “like, we just lost Judy, we’re not gonna get harassed by the fucking cops again.”

A passerby gave Peter a look, no doubt because they heard “fucking cops” come out of his mouth, and he gave them the facial expression equivalent of flipping them off. They averted their eyes and hurried away. Tourist. Peter ate the rest of his sandwich half in one bite.

“So edgy,” Wanda teased. “You should have grown up in Eastern Europe – we’re just equipped to deal with this shit.”

“By ‘this shit’ do you mean how our government is fucked and no one cares unless it affects them directly?”

Wanda gestured with her fork. “Bingo.”

They finished their lunch, each saving half of what they’d ordered to eat for dinner (because they were both so very poor) and walked back to the Stark Tech building chatting about diva identification and queer culture. Well, mostly Wanda talked and Peter listened – she was so smart, totally wasted on her bullshit desk job, but who wasn’t?

Still, Peter felt moderately positive as he rode the train to his afternoon volunteering gig. That was squashed when he rounded the corner and saw all of the students of Brooklyn Visions Academy clustered on the sidewalk, the block covered in squad cars.

“Hi, Peter!”

He turned to see Miles and Kamala, apparently okay, then saw that they were both holding signs bearing #BLM.

Walk-Out Day, Peter remembered, going to his two favorite students. “How’s the protest?”

“Great!” Kamala said, brightly. “Dr. Connors is giving us extra credit and Dr. Marconi told the cops to leave us the hell alone. Direct quote!”

Peter nodded, glancing around at the teachers who were scattered throughout the crowd of middle schoolers, watching them protectively. At least Miles and Kamala went to a pretty awesome school.

“Well, I’m glad New York’s finest could take time to protect the people of Brooklyn from you two miscreants,” he teased, and his students giggled – he wasn’t sure how much older they’d get before they stopped finding his quips amusing, so he had to milk it. “I guess we’re not sciencing today?”

“No, no!” Miles corrected, stricken. “We’ve just got another twenty minutes, please?”

“We did a lab today and the results came out backwards,” Kamala shared. “We need you.”

Peter laughed and joined the kids on the sidewalk, supporting their protest. Their organized, cop-sanctioned protest asking that people who looked like them be treated as if their lives mattered.

As Peter rode the train home after his tutoring session (which had been entertaining, as always – those two managed to come up with incredibly creative ways of doing chemistry wrong) he decided he needed to pull himself together. He couldn’t let his bullshit white male guilt make him angry all the time – he had nothing to be angry about. Wanda could be angry. Kamala and Miles could be angry. They weren’t. They were lovely people doing their best in a world that hated them. The least Peter could do was not be a sullen prick all the time.

The stray pit-bull mix who lived in his alley greeted him as soon as he got within three yards of his building’s door, as if it knew Peter had a treat. Peter knelt down, scratching the sweet animal behind one of its torn ears while he fished his sandwich crusts out of his bag. Puppy wolfed them down, thoroughly cleaned Peter’s face with its rough tongue, and rested its head against Peter’s chest in that very pit-bull way. Peter rubbed his cheek against Puppy’s fur, which did not smell good but was so soft. With a playful nip at his chin, Puppy bounded off back down the alley. Peter wondered if it had other pet humans who gave it little snacks in return for a few seconds of comfort – he hoped so, not just for Puppy’s sake but for the humans.

When he pulled his phone out of his bag to plug it in to charge in his teeny tiny kitchen, he saw he had a message from Wanda.

_Protest planning meeting tonight? Be the change and all?_

Peter blinked at his screen. Protest planning meeting? It had been a minute since he’d participated in an actual protest. He knew Wanda sometimes met with an ACLU-type group, but she hadn’t invited him to anything in a while. He could stay here and eat the other half of his sandwich while watching _Meet Me in St. Louis_ for the eighth time that week and pass out on his futon, or he could go – do something. Huh.

He affectionately patted his old, sad laptop as he shouldered his bag again and headed out the door – Judy would have to wait until later. He felt she would understand.

*~*~*

The protest planning meeting was being held in a church. Which – was fine, of course, he got that. At least it was a Unitarian church.

Wanda waved enthusiastically when she saw him crossing the street, and he wondered if she’d thought he might not show. Jesus, he really was a terrible, depressing friend. But he was making a change, and the happy surprise on Wanda’s face just strengthened his resolve.

The walls of the community room were lined with colorful banners, some mentioning god, most just bearing positive messages. One actually said “Be the change you wish to see in the world” in sparkly, purple lettering. Peter’s cynical brain supplied that Gandhi was a racist and a misogynist, which was true, but that didn’t make the words less meaningful. He took a breath and focused on Wanda, who was pointing people out to him as the sizeable group convened.

“They’re a couple and they have like six foster babies,” she said, waving at two very hippie-looking women who smiled and waved back. “They run the shelter close to my place –“

Everyone in the room, Peter realized, was an Incredibly Good Person. And they were all different from each other – some covered in piercings and tattoos, some dressed like they were perpetually ready to teach a yoga lesson, some obviously single parents, one lady wearing scrubs with a cute flower pattern who made him instantly think of May. He felt his heart warm, but there was a coldness at the edges reminding him that regardless of these kind people, Americans had still voted a hateful Cheeto into the highest office in the land.

He shook himself again – the meeting was starting, though folks were still chatting and munching on the healthy snacks that covered a small table in the back. He saw a very tall figure wearing a hoodie against the wall behind the table, not talking to anyone, face obscured. He stood out amongst the friendly, colorful crowd.

“That’s Scary Wade,” Wanda said, nodding towards Tall Hoodie Guy. “He’s a veteran. Like, Special Forces, like serious badass.”

Peter looked again and could kind of make out the guy’s face. He was – Jesus. He was scarred. Badly. Burns, maybe? He felt like he should know just from spending so much time in the ER nurse’s station at May’s hospital when he was little. The severity and the sheer amount of skin that the scars covered made him think burns.

And suddenly Tall Hoodie Guy looked right at Peter and their eyes met. Peter’s whole brain shouted, blue! Very, very blue! Pretty! He fervently hoped he had only shouted these things internally. Tall Hoodie Guy kind of glared at him, and Peter instinctively smiled. Just the new kid, super friendly, definitely not checking out your scars or your gorgeous eyes, he tried to convey. To his shock, Tall Hoodie Guy looked a bit thrown. But their silent, socially-awkward conversation was interrupted by a tall woman starting to speak at the front of the room.

“Thank you all so much for being here tonight,” she said, then launched into some announcements.

“Emma,” Wanda supplied in a low voice. “She’s in charge. She’s got some kind of job in the DA’s office, so she’s got really good connections. It helps.”

After announcements, Emma started going over the plan for the upcoming protest. They would all meet at a local park, 6pm so that folks had time to get dinner after work. All signs needed to be pre-approved. The police would escort them on their pre-approved route.

Peter tried to listen, tried to focus on Emma’s very calm and authoritative voice, but his inner cynic just would not be quiet. Another nice, orderly, law-abiding protest that wouldn’t make anyone too nervous or cause anyone too much inconvenience. That was sure to create a lot of real change.

“Any questions?”

Peter nearly fainted when a hand shot up out of the crowd, right in his line of sight. Emma looked perturbed but covered it with the skill of a woman who was used to having to hide her feelings. “Yes, Wade?”

“So the police,” Wade started, and oh, it was Tall Hoodie Guy (he’d been so distracted by the scars and pretty eyes that he’d forgotten the name Wanda had given him), “are going to let us process in an orderly fashion for a rigidly-timed period to protest – what are we protesting again?”

There was a short, awkward silence. Emma rolled her shoulders. “Oh, it’s police brutality!” Wade answered himself with a dry laugh that did something strange to Peter’s insides. “We’re protesting police brutality, that’s right.”

“We have to work with law enforcement, Wade,” Emma said, calmly. This was clearly a conversation they’d had before. “If we don’t, if we carry ‘FTP’ signs and cause trouble and get arrested, it just reinforces Power’s narrative about us and our motives.”

“And I’m telling you, from experience,” Wade said, his voice less sarcastic and more cutting, “that you can’t politely ask Power to quit shitting on people.”

Peter saw a few of the parents gathered cover their kids’ ears. There was rumbling in the crowd. Nobody looked genuinely mad, but there was a sense of weariness, as if Scary Wade was a kid who was misbehaving and if they all just ignored him he’d stop. It made the anger ball that lived in Peter’s chest swell and burn.

“He’s right.”

The entire room turned to look at him. Which was a trick, because he was one of the shortest people in the place if you didn’t count the actual children. Peter felt himself start to turn red. What had happened to chilling the fuck out? He glanced at Wanda, but she was just smiling at him, eyebrows raised, not moving away or trying to act like he wasn’t with her.

“He is,” Peter continued, trying to stand up straight and meet all the eyes that were staring at him. “The police exist to protect the status quo, so a police-approved protest can’t really challenge the status quo. Audre Lorde and all that.”

There was once again murmuring among the crowd. Peter’s eyes found Wade, who was staring at him with a completely blank expression.

“What do you suggest, then?” Emma asked, and Peter was horrified to realize that she was now addressing him in addition to Wade. “Block traffic? Get arrested? Everybody’s kids go to CPS?”

“Well, since you asked,” Wade looked away from Peter to address the crowd, affecting such a good impression of a mid-western mom-type that Peter nearly laughed out loud, “if any of you would like to participate in an actual protest led by actual black and brown humans, meet at the train stop down the block from this bullshit protest at 6pm. But don’t tell, it’s a surprise!”

And with that, and many a loudly-whispered “excuse me,” Tall Hoodie/Scary Wade/Pretty McBlue Eyes (Peter was having trouble settling on a nickname) made his way out of the community hall.

“Any other questions?” Emma asked, but Peter was still watching Wade. Just as he made it to the door, he turned back to scan the crowd, and for the third time in like fifteen minutes, their eyes somehow met. Peter held his gaze, hoping something would happen – he didn’t know what – but Wade turned away and quickly ducked out of the room.

“Hey,” Wanda said once the meeting was over and they were filling up on free snacks. “Remember that time we went to a social action meeting together and you referenced Audre Lorde?”

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said, closing his eyes. It felt like everyone was looking at them, at him.

“Why?” Wanda laughed, dropping a handful of carrot sticks into his bag. “You made me seem all interesting, and I’ve never seen Scary Wade look surprised before, not even a little bit.”

“Great,” Peter said quietly, looking through the crowd. There was no reason why Wade would come back after his dramatic exit, but –

“Mr. Parker!”

Peter and Wanda both did a double-take. Who in the fresh hell would call him Mr. Parker? A forties-ish Latinx lady with a warm, kind face was making her way towards them, pulling along a black man her age with a decidedly less friendly face.

“I’m Rio Morales,” she introduced herself. “You’re Miles’ tutor, he’s pointed you out to us.”

“Oh!” Peter realized, immediately shaking her offered hand. “I’m Peter, it’s so nice to meet you, finally. Miles is a – he’s such a great kid.”

“He adores you,” Rio said, and even Miles’ forbidding-looking dad smiled a little at him. “Thank you for what you do, it means so much.”

“Did you mean what you said earlier?” Miles’ dad asked. Rio gave him a look, but he held Peter’s gaze.

Peter swallowed but looked right back at him. “Yes.”

“So are you going to Scary Wade’s protest?” Wanda asked moments later as they walked back to her place. It was dark and while Wanda had a good two inches on him there was no way Peter was letting her walk back alone.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. Are you?”

She sighed, fishing for her keys. “I don’t know. Probably not. But I promise I’ll come bail you out if you get arrested.”

He made a face, but Wanda hugged him extra hard before going into her building, leaving him to walk to the train by himself.

Once he’d reached the relative safety of the train, he pulled out his phone and opened his calendar, entering a time and place: 6pm, station down the block from the park. He sat back and realized he felt – not better, but not as itchy, not as angry. He felt excited, he realized. Excited and so nervous his mouth was sweating. Best not to think about it – just do it.

When he got home, he dumped his jacket and bag on the floor, flopped onto his sad old futon, rested his laptop on his chest and started up _Meet Me In St. Louis_. He fell asleep listening to Judy singing the trolley song and woke up more rested than he’d felt since – well, since ever.


	2. The Boy Next Door

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I've posted this two Tuesdays in a row, so I guess I'm updating this on Tuesdays! Hooray!!
> 
> BadaBingBoogeyTheSecond gave me some awesome ideas for this chapter in the comments for Ch 1. Thank you!!!
> 
> Bless my sweet, wonderful beta, QQI25. *so many kisses*

Thinking of something to masturbate to was so hard. Pun intended.

Peter tried desperately to clear his mind, to concentrate on the feeling of his hand sliding over his mostly-erect cock, to imagine it was someone else touching him. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d come, and he knew he owed it to the people in his life to get off at least once so he’d be in a somewhat better mood.

He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. He tried to think of random desirable bodies, curves and red hair, long and muscular limbs, broad chests – each worked for a moment, but none were enough to sustain him for long. He tried imagining the feeling of being kissed, being held. It just made him self-conscious. He gave it one last go, pushing away thoughts of work, of money, of the shitty condition of the world, of the upcoming protest that he needed to decide whether or not he was going to instead of mentally flip-flopping about it every few seconds…

Blue eyes. Shocking blue eyes looking right at him. Piercing into him. They were mostly unreadable and kind of surprised and kind of startled and also – warm? Was it warm? Blue and warm and deep.

Peter stopped torturing his poor cock. That had – almost worked. What did it say about him, that the closest he’d gotten to coming in days (weeks?) was from thinking of Scary Wade’s pretty blue eyes? They hadn’t even met. They probably wouldn’t even like each other.

He cleaned the lube off of himself with the handful of tissues that he had really been hoping to ejaculate into, and tossed them into the wastebasket against the wall. He had about ten minutes before he needed to leave, and he opened his laptop to watch a little more of _Meet Me in St. Louis_ but was greeted by an email from J. Jonah Jameson.

Well, it was from the office of J. Jonah Jameson, but J.J. was only CC-ed – poor Betty had actually written and sent the email which basically said that the paper was once again going to take Peter’s photos but not pay him for them. The next email in his inbox was from Betty, from her private email, apologizing and saying that she’d work on getting him something. Sweet Betty – she really was the best. Peter probably should have tried a little harder with her.

His chest filled with a mixture of rage (at Jameson for being a dick and at himself for being surprised by it) and bittersweet warmth towards Betty, he dashed back a quick “Thanks but don’t worry about it” and checked through the rest of his messages. Many were about bills. Hooray. One, sent to him early that morning which he’d missed because he’d had to dash off to Job #2, was from Wanda.

 _Scary Wade sent this to the group mailing list,_ Wanda’s message explained, and Peter saw that it was a forwarded email with instructions about how to sign up for the alternative protest. Without thinking, Peter clicked the link and filled in the sign-up form with his personal info. Decision made, he supposed. He texted Wanda a thank you and hurried off to Job #3. Judy would have to, once again, wait until later, but he liked to think that she would be proud of his choice.

Being a human lab rat was fun in a perverse sort of way. Sometimes the products he tested had no noticeable effect at all, and sometimes the most alarmingly surprising things happened to his body. Peter was pretty sure he’d peed purple for a week once – the pharma reps had assured him that wasn’t a side effect of whatever cocktail they’d given him, but Peter knew better.

Today, he was testing what they’d told him was a dietary supplement. They’d told him to sit in their clinical trials rec room for an hour and then (if he didn’t go into cardiac arrest or break out in welts, presumably) he was free to go. He asked if they had a check for him today. They did not. Great.

There were three other human lab rats in the rec room. Peter supposed he should talk to them. One of them had tried to interact with him when he came in. Wanda would probably have said that the guy was trying to flirt with him, but Wanda always thought that.

The awful truth was that Peter simply didn’t like other people very much. He liked his students, he liked Wanda (and he’d just lucked out meeting her), and he liked May. He’d liked other people, but they were all gone now in various ways. He wondered if he’d always been like this because he couldn’t remember ever having or wanting many friends. He’d always just sort of known that people were, in general, awful.

Instead of befriending other human lab rats, Peter checked his phone to find that he’d gotten an email from Scary’s Wade’s AntiFa group. Peter felt like he sort of knew what AntiFa meant. Because he’d formally signed up for the protest, they had sent him an information packet. He was enough of a nerd to get excited by the several PDFs attached to the email as well as the informational links included in the body. He needed to read everything thoroughly before showing up for the protest.

It was the fastest and most overwhelming hour he’d ever spent in a clinical trials waiting room. Most of the material they’d sent him had to do with being arrested. By the police. And put in jail. Peter read carefully over every sentence about what to do and not do, what to say and not say, what would happen during and after his arrest. There was a waiver to sign saying that his participation in the protest was of his own free will, that nothing that happened to him at the protest or while in police custody was the fault of the organization, but another document said they had a plan in place to get all arrested participants out of jail the same evening. If he did everything right, he wouldn’t even have to go in front of a judge, just spend a few boring hours in a cell.

At no point did any of the information mention being stripped and searched during his arrest. Peter wanted to think that was because there was no way that would happen to him. Another part of his brain said that it was because everyone just knew that’s what happened when you got arrested and dealt with it and he was silly to be scared of it.

Peter was, in fact, fucking terrified of police. He was under the impression, from various stories he’d read on the internet, that cops were just waiting for an excuse to grab him and shove their fingers up his ass or worse. He wasn’t afraid of being killed by the police, no, he had no illusions about the relative chances of a tiny white kid being shot to death for holding a cell phone or wearing a hoodie. But he was absolutely petrified of being humiliated and violated by big, burly, homophobic law enforcement officers.

He supposed it had something to do with being bullied in high school, with never being big enough to protect himself. He had an irrational notion that police would be able to sense how much he distrusted and feared them and that they’d just harass and hurt him on principle. It was ridiculous, he knew, and it made him disgusted with himself.

But. Still. As he read through all of the material that Scary Wade’s group had sent, he couldn’t help hoping to find the paragraph where they talked about the magic words to say so that they police wouldn’t take his clothes and go in for a cavity search. There was advice about what to say so that searching him or his possessions was illegal, but it also said that such things wouldn’t be useful until much later when they came up in court. Basically, because there was almost no chance of repercussions and they could justify anything they did as protecting themselves or other “innocent” people, police could do whatever they wanted to him. To anyone.

But that was the point. That was what they were protesting in the first place, and the alternative was just to continue being scared and not doing what he could to help other people. Fuck that.

Peter felt jumpy and shaky as he rode the train back to Job #2 for his afternoon shift, but he didn’t think it had anything to do with the dietary supplements. He wondered if Scary Wade had been arrested before. That was probably a completely stupid question. According to Wanda, Wade had been in the Special Forces, and while Peter only had a vague idea of what that entailed, he had a feeling it was somewhat more stressful than getting arrested.

Still, he thought as he looked at the original email Wanda had forwarded to him, he did have Wade’s email. What if he just dropped him a casual note, asked him for a little more insight about what to expect?

By the time he’d made it into the toxicology lab (Job #2) and put on his starchy white coat, he had thoroughly berated himself for even thinking of writing to Scary Wade, Pretty McBlue Eyes, Tall Hoodie Man. Not only would that be supremely extra, but he also thought it might not be a good idea to write to someone whose eyes he’d almost successfully masturbated to hours ago.

Peter enjoyed his work at Job #2. It was as close as he’d ever gotten to making money in the field he actually wanted to be in. Yes, his job mostly consisted of labeling samples and cataloguing things, but he got to work with Petri dishes and microscopes and occasionally even got to apply a bit of his chemistry smarts. He left his afternoon shift a little more lighthearted, but the shaking fear from knowing that he would go to the protest and would most likely be arrested was always right at the edge of his mind.

“I just don’t know about all of that, sweetie.”

Peter glanced over at May where she stirred the marina she was making with a wooden spoon, her forehead furrowed with worry. He hated that, seeing that look on her face, knowing he’d put it there.

“They screen me all the time,” he reminded, trying for a casual tone as he shaped yummy-smelling dough into neat roll shapes. “Really, it’s like free healthcare.”

That made her smile a little, which eased the tension in Peter’s chest. “I just wish you didn’t have to do it,” she continued. “I wish you were in school.”

Peter’s heart sank. He left the little dough balls half arranged on a baking sheet to go over and give her a squeeze around the shoulders and kiss on the cheek. “Next semester,” he promised her for probably the twelfth time. “I’ve almost got enough for tuition for the first year. And I’m such a genius, maybe they’ll just give me my degree after that.”

May laughed and patted his hand as he went back to his rolls, but she still looked a little sad. He knew she wished she could just pay for grad school, or that they could take out more loans, but they were still paying for college. It was just hard with only the two of them. Peter thought they were doing amazing, considering.

As they waited for sauce to simmer and rolls to bake, he made May tell him all about her day, all of the interesting characters and injuries she’d encountered, and it brightened them both up. May loved her job, which Peter was pretty sure would scare the living shit out of him, but he never got tired of hearing her talk about myocardial infarctions and the interesting things people had inserted in their orifices and the stories they came up with to justify them.

“What about you?” May asked as they plated delicious pasta and steaming-hot rolls and salad and wow Peter loved food. “Are you doing anything fun this week? Out of the ordinary?”

Usually when May asked him this question he made something up or just admitted to being the most boring human in the world, but he realized this time he actually had an answer. “I went to like a social justice meeting with Wanda.”

May’s face lit up. She loved Wanda. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he continued, “they’re doing a protest against police brutality.”

“Ooh!” May said, excitedly twirling pasta around her fork. “Are you going? Your uncle and I used to do protests, like about nuclear energy and sacred lands and stuff.”

Peter tried to imagine May and Ben protesting. “That does not surprise me. Do you want to go?”

She thought for a moment. Seriously. “I don’t know. Honestly, police are so scary. That’s awful, isn’t it? I should get out there, be part of the Resistance, huh?”

Peter shrugged, poking at his pasta (which was so yummy and spicy and he wanted to eat more of it but his stomach was just so small these days). “You’re really nice to people and you do important work and you don’t get paid enough for it. You’re doing plenty.”

May looked particularly touched. Jesus, did she not know that? Did he not tell her that enough? They watched some of _Meet Me in St. Louis_ (on an actual TV screen) and sang along together, just as they had multiple nights a week ever since Peter could remember. They got as far as Judy singing about The Boy Next Door and how he doesn’t know she exists before they both started yawning. Peter made sure to give May an extra big hug before he left.

“You and Wanda have fun at your protest, if you go,” she said, kissing him on the temple. “Try not to get arrested.”

She said it jokingly, as if it was a hilariously far-fetched possibility. Peter’s stomach did somersaults all the way back to his place.

The next evening, Peter found himself taking the train to the stop close to the park near Wanda’s house. His brain had shut down. Maybe if he just didn’t think about it, if he just let his body do the thing, he could get through it all right. That was what this was about, after all – putting his white, privileged body on the line for once.

He got off the train expecting a group of, like, stern-looking people in armbands standing ominously in the station. When he didn’t see anyone like that, he went up to the street. No ominous group. He looked around until he saw people gathered around a picnic table in the park, very near the train stop. He immediately saw Tall Hoodie, Pretty McBlue Eyes, talking to a tall black woman holding a clipboard. His heart in his throat, he went over to them.

“Hi, are you on the list?” she asked as soon as she noticed him. He said yes and told her his name, and then she seemed to pause and take a good look at him. “Jesus, how old are you?”

“Twenty-six,” Peter answered, trying not to get angry. “Want to see my ID?”

The woman smirked – Peter liked her instantly. She also threw a curious little glance at Wade, as if making sure he’d heard the exchange. Wade, who had been paying attention, quickly looked away.

“I’m Preston,” she said. “We’re about to get started, just hang out. Did you sign the waiver?”

Peter assured her that he had, and she darted off, leaving him standing with Scary Wade.

“Is Wanda coming?” Wade asked, and Peter had forgotten how interesting his voice sounded, wiry yet so expressive.

“I don’t think so,” Peter said. “She might be doing the other protest.”

“Ah,” Wade said, nodding toward a group on the other side of the park. “Probably won’t see her, then – Emma’s acting like we don’t exist.”

“Are we screwing things up for them?” Peter asked, wondering how that hadn’t occurred to him before. “Like, will the cops be more likely to arrest them because of what we’re doing?”

Wade shrugged, giving Peter a lopsided grin and holy shit those eyes. “Maybe.”

“What are we doing?” Peter asked. He was on a roll.

Before Scary Wade could answer, Preston called the attention of the small group to herself. Peter thought they looked like they were about to have a picnic and almost started laughing hysterically.

“Your job,” Preston said, loudly and clearly, “is to get arrested and to be seen getting arrested. If anyone is not completely prepared for that, please don’t stick around because that is the plan.”

Her eyes lingered on Peter for a moment, and he frowned. He’d done the reading, dammit – he was ready for this. He’d role-played his lines with Wanda, who made a surprisingly good cop.

Preston went on to explain that they were going to march in an orderly fashion out into the street and sit down, blocking traffic. She did not mention how they were going to not be run down by cars, so Peter figured that was a foregone conclusion. He hoped it was. He tried to keep listening to Preston over the ringing in his ears.

“Please remember not to antagonize law enforcement,” she said, casting a glance towards Wade, who raised his hands innocently. “We plan on getting you out of custody tonight, but if you’re arrested for resisting on top of blocking traffic, you are on your own.”

Peter had a bad habit of punching people who threatened him. It sounded ridiculous because he was so inconveniently small, but if he had a nickel for every grade-school bully who’d nearly pissed themselves when he took a swing at them, he – well, he could probably pay for grad school. He really really hoped he could keep that in check tonight.

And suddenly they were getting into a line facing the street. Wade was one of the protest marshals, Preston had said, and he was corralling the majority of the participants. Peter noticed that Preston and a few other participants were not joining them. They all had signs and Preston had a bull horn, but it looked very like they were staying on the sidewalk.

“Is Preston not coming?” Peter accidentally asked Wade.

“She’d better not,” Wade said, glancing back at the group. “She needs to get home tonight and care for my child.”

Peter’s head spun. He had kind of been hoping Preston would sit next to him – she seemed like the kind of person that just didn’t ever get fucked with. Of course Wade was married to her, or at least had a child with her, by the sound of it. She was a badass, just like him.

Wade was telling them to move, and Peter followed the person in front of him. Holy shit. There were no cars coming. There were cars coming in the distance but they were slowing down. He realized Wade was behind him. The line made it all the way across the street, and Peter linked arms with the person next to him like they’d been told. He realized Wade had linked arms with him on the other side.

“Great job, everyone,” Wade called in an inappropriately cheerful voice as they watched a few cars slow down and stop feet away from them. Peter felt a lightness in his chest – he was doing it! It was happening! And he hadn’t gotten killed yet. Fan-fucking-tastic.

Then, he became aware of a loud, aggressive noise coming from the park. Peter and Wade both looked to see a big, tiki-torch-wielding group of what looked like white men. They were surrounding Emma’s protest group.

“Fuck,” Wade hissed. “Mother fuckers.”

Peter couldn’t believe he hadn’t thought of the possibility of counter-protesters showing up. That was the new normal – white supremacists and men’s rights activists coming to protests and attacking and killing people without repercussions. He felt Wade’s arm pull away from his own.

“I gotta go punch some Nazis,” Wade said to the group but his eyes landed on Peter. “Just stick to the plan, have a sit down, get arrested, relax and do what they say and somebody will come get you out.”

“What’s getting arrested like?” Peter blurted.

Wade looked at him, but not with disgust as Peter had feared. “Oh it sucks,” he said, then started moving back towards the park.

There was no way Peter was imagining that Wade looked back at him for a long moment. What the fuck? Because he was new? Because he was short? Young? He tried to pass off the way his heart hammered against his chest and his pulse roared in his ears as nerves about being processed.

He had been so distracted by the lovely blue eyes looking at him somewhat worriedly that he hadn’t noticed the blue and red flashing lights that were suddenly surrounding them. Preston’s voice rang out strong and clear, insisting that black lives mattered, quoting startling statistics about the police and the NYPD in particular. Peter felt somewhat inspired but also kind of wanted to ask her to please stop as he watched the burly, badge-wearing cops making their way towards where he was sitting in the street.

He stayed perfectly still, Preston’s voice in his ears, as the guy next to him got arrested. He watched carefully, observing the way he complied with his body but said out loud that he did not consent to being searched. The thought of these powerful strangers putting their hands on him made Peter nauseated, but he could do that, he told himself, he could let it happen. It was important.

He did kind of wish the cops would hurry the fuck up, though – it seemed like it was taking a long time for him to get arrested. He shook himself out of the slight trance he’d been in and turned to see what was delaying them – the counter-protest had spread to this side of the park. In fact, he looked up to see Scary Wade punching a khaki-wearing Nazi, just as he’d said he would.

Peter watched Wade’s scarred face contort with effort as he landed a hard hit to the guy’s stomach, making the Nazi double over, and he nearly cheered. He was pretty sure there was a twinkle in those gorgeous blue eyes. He was so engrossed that he almost didn’t feel strong hands on his arms, pulling him up.

He didn’t hear what the cop asked him, but he knew what he was supposed to say. He pretended that the cop was Wanda and said that he was using his right to remain silent and did not consent to being searched. The cop seemed distinctly uninterested in him, probably itching to get all these fools out of the street so he could help his buddies deal with the Nazi/SJW fight spilling out onto the sidewalk. Peter let himself be jerked towards the police van on the curb. He suddenly felt that he was a very small cog in a great big machine.

“Hey, asshole!”

Peter looked around to see Wade, his Nazi curled up on the ground in pain, gesturing aggressively at the cop who was arresting him. “Is that how you get off, dislocating a ninety-pound kid’s shoulder?

Shit. The cop hung onto Peter’s arm but turned his full attention to Wade, and Peter thought he could feel the rage pouring off of him. He was evidently the kind of cop who went a little nuts if he was defied in any way. Peter realized another cop was now pulling him along, and he watched helplessly as Wade and his original cop moved towards each other. He saw the cop shove Wade, hard.

“Don’t!” he called, but it was too late – Wade’s hoodie-covered arm had reared back and connected with the cop’s jaw. The last thing Peter saw as his hands were zip-tied and he was pushed roughly into the van was three cops tackling Wade to the ground.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh no what will happen???
> 
> Y'all, I've never been arrested at a protest before, so this is all based on research. If you have experiences that are more informed, I would love to hear about them.
> 
> And PLEASE let's keep up this sharing ideas in the comments thing! I'm so into it!
> 
> You are also welcome to Tumble me with thoughts/questions/chat: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	3. I Don't Care

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's time once again for Crock Writes Based on Research Not Experience, yaaay! Seriously, I tried to research all of this, but I haven't actually been through it myself, so if you know differently, please share. 
> 
> I didn't burden my sweet beta with this chapter, so any mistakes are mine alone.

Peter had been in police custody for almost three hours and not one officer had tried to search any of his orifices. He was almost insulted.

Being arrested was, for the most part, excruciatingly boring and frustrating. Being put in a cell had been scary, but he’d soon realized the other occupants were all his fellow protesters. There were a few Alt Right counter-protesters in with them (apparently most of them hadn’t been arrested for some reason) but they seemed very eager to stay away from Scary Wade.

It had taken longer for Wade to be “processed” than it had Peter, no doubt because he’d punched a cop. At first, Peter had waited anxiously to see him being brought down the narrow hallway. After a while, though, he’d surprised the hell out of himself by actually chatting with the other incarcerated protesters, who were all very nice folks.

When Wade had finally been put in the cell with them, Peter had watched, and Wade’s crazy blue eyes caught his again, but he’d looked away. Now that he knew he was all right, Peter found himself weirdly furious with Wade. What a ridiculous thing he had done, and he’d escalated the situation and antagonized the cops and done everything that Preston had told him not to do. Peter tried to ignore Wade and continue talking to his new jail friends.

He didn’t think he was imagining, though, that Wade was sticking close to him. Because he was a “ninety-pound kid,” no doubt. Once Peter had worked his way to the corner of the cell to have a moment to himself, Wade had subtly followed him.

“Sucks, huh?”

“It’s mostly boring,” Peter answered. “They’re probably not going to feed us or anything, right?”

“There’s a point at which they have to feed us,” Wade said, his posture opening now that Peter was paying attention to him, “but they’d really like to not do that. Preston will have you guys out soon.”

Ah, Preston. Wade’s awesome badass wife, or at least his co-parent. Peter wanted to ask who would stay with their kiddo while Preston got them out of jail, but that wasn’t his business. “Will she be able to get you out?” Peter asked. “Since you kinda punched a cop?”

Wade smiled, grimly. “You didn’t need to do that,” Peter said, feeling a pulse of anger in his chest. “I knew what I was getting into. I did the reading.”

“Eh, I just hate to pass up a chance to punch a cop. And besides,” Wade grinned, leaning back against the bars of their cell as if he was perfectly comfortable, “they’ll have to feed me.”

Peter couldn’t help but laugh. Wade was refreshingly strange. He was also beat to hell, a bruise showing vividly on his cheekbone through his scarred skin, and Peter had seen him limp a bit. The cops had “worked him over,” as it were.

“Are you okay?” Peter asked, immediately feeling silly.

Wade looked at him a moment, another of those unreadable expressions he was so good at. “I heal fast,” he said. “Are you okay? Arm still attached?”

Peter shook the arm the cop had manhandled to show Wade it was intact. He’d have a bruise, maybe. Wade nodded, satisfied, and Peter felt a sudden weird impulse to feel him up – no! Not feel him up, but, like, check him over, the way you were supposed to do if someone had been injured, to make sure there were no broken bones or, like, hemorrhages. It was his vicarious nurse-training coming through.

“So do you think we made a difference?” he asked, mostly to distract himself from his awkward first-aid impulses.

Wade smiled his funny little lopsided smile. “Almost. Maybe.”

“What would it take to really make a difference, do you think?”

“If there were more of us,” Wade answered, “and we had better weapons than the cops.”

“—Jesus.”

Wade laughed, and then immediately grimaced in pain. Peter caught himself reaching out to steady him. He was pretty sure Wade didn’t notice. Was he standing too close? He tried to back up against the cinderblock wall.

“You’ll learn not to ask me questions like that,” Wade said, wryly.

Peter shrugged. “You’re not wrong.”

Wade raised an eyebrow. Or, he raised the muscle above his eye where an eyebrow would have been if the hair hadn’t been burned away (or whatever had caused his severe scarring that Peter was only now getting a good look at). “I’m not?”

“Well, no,” Peter glanced into the hallway to make sure no cops were eavesdropping, but they were probably all gathered in the in-take room eating the six pizzas Peter had seen get delivered some time ago. “Peaceful protest hasn’t really worked – ever.”

Peter nearly quoted what Wade had said at the meeting where Peter had first seen him, something about how authority never gives up power willingly. He thought that might give Wade the wrong impression. He wasn’t sure what the wrong impression was, but he didn’t want to give it. Wade wasn’t saying anything, just looking at him. Peter wished badly that he could read what he was thinking, but he found that just looking back at Wade felt strangely okay.

“Parker?”

Peter jumped at the sound of his own name said by a bored cop. He looked out into the hallway to see the cop opening the door of the cell and gesturing impatiently for him to follow.

“Go,” Wade said in the most serious voice Peter had heard him use. He quickly moved past the others, saying goodbye to his fellow protesters, some of whom said they’d see him soon. Ah, the friends one made in the Big House.

Peter followed the cop down the hallway where he was given his stuff back – just his wallet with only his key and his ID in it since he’d done the reading and knew to pack light. When he was let out into the main lobby, he saw Preston standing at the front desk. She looked tired and kind of pissed but she smiled when she saw him.

“You okay?”

“Yeah,” he said. “Thank you for, uh – bailing me out?”

She waved a hand. “Not even bail, I don’t think. You probably won’t be arraigned. Good work.”

“Will everybody get out tonight?” Peter tried not to think of blue eyes looking at him, of pain clouding a lopsided grin.

“Everybody who didn’t punch a cop,” Preston said pointedly as she signed the clipboard full of papers on the desk in front of her. “Wade’s on his own.”

Peter felt like that was kind of harsh coming from a wife/co-parent – what would happen to their kiddo if Wade was in jail for a while? – but again, not his business. “Can I do anything to help?”

Preston looked up from her papers, and her expression softened. “If you’re up to it, you can go back to the church and help make phone calls. Lots more folks were arrested than we planned for because of the counter-protest.”

The church – he assumed she meant where he’d met with Emma’s group. That seemed to be confirmed when Emma herself walked out of a room off of the lobby. She and Preston exchanged a wordless, weary greeting. “It may take all night,” Emma sighed, “but I think I can get everybody.”

“Peter’s going to the church to help out,” Preston informed her.

Emma smiled at him, and Peter wondered if she recognized him as the guy who disrupted her meeting. “Thank you so much. There should be coffee and snacks there – I know they don’t feed you in this place.”

For some reason, it made Peter happy to think that Preston and Emma were friends and not like rival gang leaders. That made sense – female social justice leaders had to stick together, probably. He was feeling kind of bouncy, thinking through the fastest way to get back to the church from the police station, as he walked out the doors.

“Peter!”

He looked up to see Wanda. Standing huddled with her on the sidewalk under the shitty street lamp was May.

“I’m sorry,” Wanda said as he came down to them, feeling like he was moving through water, “they texted me and when they said you were arrested I got scared because of the fight –“

Peter had listed Wanda as his emergency contact. Shit. He hugged both of them, feeling numb through his limbs. Shit, it was late at night. “How long have you been out here?”

May was still hugging him and didn’t respond. “I came straight from the park,” Wanda said. “It was nuts. That was insane. Those awful people, those horrible fucking cops –“

Peter turned around to make sure there were no cops hanging out near them. His orifices had nearly escaped the night un-violated, and he hoped to keep it that way.  They were alone on the sidewalk, save for a few other small, huddled groups, probably also waiting for their friends and loved ones to be released from custody.

“I’m so sorry,” Peter said to both of them, not looking at May as he hugged her. He felt a knot in his throat, and suddenly his adventure in jail seemed like an awful, embarrassing, scary mistake that he wished he could take back.

“Don’t be sorry,” May said into his ear. Her voice was low and sweet and it made Peter feel like he was six years old again, hugging her after one of his many horrible days at school. “I am so proud of you.”

Peter closed his eyes against the hot tears he felt in them and wrapped his arms more tightly around his aunt. He felt Wanda’s hand on his shoulder, comforting without intruding.

“Did you get hurt?” he asked, abruptly turning to her.

“I’m fine,” she assured, giving him a semi-tearful smile. “We were just marching around the park with signs. You sat down in the street!”

Wanda said it like he’d done something impressive, and that made Peter feel sick. More sick than he already felt. “You blocked traffic?” May asked, looking stricken.

Peter nodded, feeling even more like a little kid. May didn’t tell him that was dangerous or ask how he could do something so reckless, but she did run her hands down his arms and over his torso, gently squeezing. Checking him over, he realized.

“It looked like the counter-protesters were coming after you guys,” Peter told Wanda.

“Eh,” she shrugged, “they kind of pussed out once Scary Wade started coming after them.”

“That’s bullies for you,” May said. “The second somebody fights back their balls draw right up.”

Peter nearly fainted at the colorful illustration, but Wanda cackled. He tried to convince the two of them to go home, but they insisted on going with him to the church.

“What happened to Wade?” Wanda asked as they rode the nearly empty train. Peter told her what had happened, that he’d punched a cop because he thought the cop was pulling Peter’s arm too hard, that he probably wouldn’t get out of jail any time soon. Wanda’s eyes grew progressively wider as he spoke.

“But Emma’s there,” she reminded. “We saw Emma in the station with the woman who ran your protest, so she can probably get him out.”

Peter felt shame roll in his stomach at Wanda calling it “his” protest. He’d barely done anything to disrupt the moral order, and he’d spent a pitiful amount of time in jail for it. And like Wade had said, the reality was that nothing they’d done tonight would probably make a significant difference.

There were indeed coffee and snacks at the church, as well as a surprisingly big crowd considering the late hour. There was a small first-aid station in a corner, which May immediately found with her nurse-sense and made a beeline for – there were no serious injuries as far as Peter could tell, but the few bumped and bruised folks looked very happy to see her.

Wanda got nabbed by media since the person coordinating volunteers knew she worked in the PR department for Stark Tech. Peter hadn’t thought about that, but it made total sense – they needed to get images and videos and press releases out to the right news outlets as quickly as possible. With fights and traffic blocking and Nazis, there was no telling how this story would get spun.

 When he told the organizer he’d just gotten out of custody, they had tried to get him to rest and have some coffee, but Peter assured them he was okay and insisted on being given a job. (He. Had done. The reading. Goddamnit.) Turned out protesting wasn’t as simple as protest, get arrested, get out of jail, and he wasn’t sure why he’d been so stupid as to think that it was. “Jail support” was, evidently, a whole wing of protest work – there were people calling police stations all over the city because not everyone had been taken to the same place, people recording the legal names and charges and arraignment dates for folks who had been arrested, and even people going in shifts to various police stations to greet folks as they got released. Peter asked if he could have that job – it had been weirdly overwhelming and disorienting to walk out of the police station, and he couldn’t imagine how bad it would have been if no one had been waiting for him – but the organizer told him no.

“You were a red,” they told him with kind of a weird, respectful tone. “Let folks who didn’t get jerked around by the cops tonight do that.”

Peter wanted to protest that he had barely been jerked around and had only spent a few hours in jail, but he didn’t want to make (more) trouble. It was lovely to see folks from both protests all helping each other all over the big community hall, and it made him feel uncharacteristically cooperative. He gave all of this information to another volunteer so that they could check on possible court dates, etc (he decided not to think about that shit because it made his stomach twist into knots) and sat down with his phone, which Wanda had brought him, and a list of police stations to call.

When Peter finally came up for air, he realized that hours had gone by. He stood up to stretch and looked around to see that May was chatting with a very young Latinix person wrapped in a blanket. She probably had to be at the hospital in a few hours, and she’d had zero sleep, but she looked happy. Wanda was animatedly chatting to someone over a laptop, also in her element. He had an odd, peaceful feeling, very different from the grinding, nagging, angry noise that usually filled his brain.

Moments later, there was a small commotion when Preston showed up with more released “red” protesters. She looked exhausted, and Peter watched as a little girl, probably about eight years old, ran across the room and leapt into her arms. Preston lifted the girl up and easily set her on her hip, kissing her all over her face – it was incredibly sweet, and Peter realized that must be Wade’s kiddo. He felt a strange constriction in his chest as he watched the adorable interaction – the little girl was absolutely beautiful, and when she smiled at her mom, he could easily see Wade’s lopsided grin.

Then, to his surprise, a man and a little boy who looked slightly older than the little girl joined them, and Preston gave the man a decidedly romantic kiss, which made both kids make gagging sounds. They were the picture of a loving family happy to see each other again after a long night. Peter was trying really hard to incorporate this new information when he realized he’d probably been staring and probably looked creepy, so he turned his attention back to his phone-calling.

“Wade’s little girl is their foster baby,” Wanda explained a bit later. She’d finished up what she could do for the night (now the day, really, as Peter could see sunlight coming through the stained glass windows) and had come to chat with him.

“Ah,” Peter said, glancing over to where Preston and her husband (co-parent?) were talking together while their kiddos slept on two of the first-aid cots. Peter had convinced May to take a nap on one of the cots as well since there was no one else in need of first-aid at the moment and she’d have to go straight to work soon. Everyone was about to have really long, unpleasant days, he realized.

“When do you have to be at work?” he asked Wanda.

“I’m taking a sick day,” she smiled, blissfully. “I get those since I’m a corporate shill.”

Peter half-heartedly flicked her on the arm, but he couldn’t really begrudge her a sick day – she’d waited for him to get out of jail, after all. “So is Wade – like, his kid’s mom isn’t in the picture?”

He was semi-horrified that he was still hung up on this, but Wanda didn’t seem bothered. “I don’t know, she said. “I know he works out of town or out of the country a lot.”

Hm. So Wade had a kid, but she stayed with Preston and her adorable family. So Wade wasn’t married, at least not to Preston. But possibly he was straight, given that he had a kid. Interesting.

His thoughts were interrupted by a familiar voice calling his name from across the room.

“Hey!” Peter said in surprise as Miles nearly knocked him down with a hug. “Fancy meeting you here.”

“We’re gonna help with jail support,” Miles said, looking back at his parents who also made their way to Peter’s station. “How long have you been here?”

“Uh,” Peter floundered, realizing Miles and his family looked rested and clean and that he must look like a paper bag full of poop, “a while. What time is it?”

“It’s six in the morning,” Rio said with a laugh. “Have you been here all night?”

“Were you at the protest?” Miles asked, suddenly even more enthusiastic. “Did you fight Nazis?”

“I did not fight any Nazis,” Peter confessed, thinking of Wade punching a guy in khakis, “but I did help stop traffic.”

“Were you arrested?” Miles’ dad asked, and Rio shot him a look.

“I was,” Peter said. He wasn’t sure what the fuck was wrong with him, telling the parents of a kid he tutored that he had a record now. Perhaps it was because he hadn’t slept in over twenty-four hours.

Miles was looking at Peter like he’d just told him he’d invented ice cream. “That is awesome.”

“It was not awesome,” Peter said quickly, glancing at both of Miles’ parents whose reactions he was having trouble gauging. “It was really scary and really boring.”

“But you made them deal with you,” Miles insisted. “You did something they couldn’t ignore, not like holding signs or something but like actual protesting.”

“Holding signs is actual protesting,” Peter said, and he meant it. “My friend was with the legal protest tonight, and the counter-protesters were mostly after them. If you’re making Nazis mad, you’re doing something right.”

Miles didn’t seem convinced, but Rio looked appreciative. Jefferson, Miles’ dad, actually introduced himself to Peter and shook his hand before the three of them went to check in for their volunteer work.

 “Bullshit.”

The voice sent a shiver up Peter’s spine, and he turned around to see that Wade had been standing close to him, listening. “What? Also, hi – you’re out?”

That wry, crooked smile again. “I think Emma made a big deal to the DA about me being a wounded veteran. Which is hilarious.”

“Did they drop the charges?” Peter hadn’t realized that he’d been waiting to see Wade before he left the church. His entire body suddenly felt heavy and fatigued.

“No fucking way,” Wade laughed. “They’ll have my ass, even if it’s only a great big fine. Guess I should have just held a sign.”

Wade had a way of quickly and intensely pissing Peter the fuck off. “You know what I meant. It’s not bullshit.”

“You don’t believe that,” Wade said, moving a little closer. “Unless you just exercised civil disobedience and got arrested to flirt with me.”

Peter frowned, which made Wade smile, infuriatingly. His face felt hot with irritation, and he hoped it didn’t look like he was blushing. “What do you want me to tell him?” he asked, sharply. “To punch a cop? He’s a thirteen year old mixed-race kid.”

“Yeah, and now he’s gonna think that life will get better for people who look like him if he just keeps peacefully protesting.”

“He shouldn’t have to put himself in more danger,” Peter shot back. “White cis men ought to take responsibility for changing the bullshit system that benefits us. Isn’t that what this was supposed to be?”

Wade’s eyes went wide and he drew in a breath. Peter assumed he was preparing to say something else, but instead, he just kind of nodded and turned away. Peter watched as Wade tentatively sat down next to Preston, who seemed to have forgiven him, and very lightly petted his sleeping daughter’s hair. By the time Peter had managed to track down the last couple of arrested protesters on his list, Wade was gone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> No direct mentions of Judy in this chapter, but here's a clip of her singing the song "I Don't Care" from In the Good Old Summertime (I assume Peter sang this to himself in his head throughout his jail adventure): https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=Q-Q3gd6S1as
> 
> Look at me, updating on Tuesday for the third time in a row! WHEE!!!!
> 
> Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	4. Put Your Arms Around Me, Honey

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLESS MY BETA QQI25
> 
> Also bless LadyNickName and westiec for coming up with part of the plot of this chapter and to BadaBingBoogeyTheSecond for getting Weasel in there <333
> 
> Also bless everyone in Spideypool chat for talking to me about gender y'all are the best <333

Peter slept most of that day. He’d already arranged his work schedule to have the day off, assuming he might be in jail for the majority of it. He felt somewhat guilty that every single arrested protester wasn’t accounted for when he left the church, but Preston told him he couldn’t be of any use if he was asleep on his feet and he had to agree. Wanda came with him, and they slept into the late afternoon and woke up to eat ramen (all Peter had in the house) and watch _In the Good Old Summertime._ It was the only Judy Garland movie Wanda would tolerate since it was basically _You’ve Got Mail._

“There’s a musical, too, right?” she asked as they watched Judy pull a piano sale right out from under Van Johnson. “I’m pretty sure it was, like, a Hungarian novel originally.”

Peter nodded and smiled. That sounded great. He was relaxed and content, all very unfamiliar feelings that he was enjoying quite a lot.

When he woke up the next morning still feeling relaxed and content, he officially freaked out. This was how it happened – you participated in one protest, felt like you’d really done something, and proceeded to abandon the fight. That was how Power won – by letting people feel like they’d made change happen.

He spent his break between jobs, which he would normally have spent re-watching _In the Good Old Summertime_ and loudly singing along, going to every social justice events calendar he could find, signing up to volunteer, and recording things in his phone calendar until every spare moment for the whole week was filled. He scanned the news to get his ire back up, and he left for Job #2 feeling full of piss and vinegar, as his uncle would have said.

His activities took him back to the church a couple of times that week, and he saw Preston and others he’d met through the protest at almost every event or volunteering gig. He didn’t see Wade. He hadn’t expected to, but he was not exactly comfortable with how they had left things. He didn’t understand why Wade had just walked away instead of firing back, which seemed much more his style.

Peter was walking home from helping with dinner at the shelter close to Wanda’s place when he realized – he had called Wade “cis.” When he had no idea, no idea at all, if Wade identified that way. He had just read him as “male” and assumed there was no more to it than that, and then he casually threw out a word without even being 100% sure he knew what it meant. Goddamnit.

After that, he carried a smoldering shame with him in his stomach underneath all the piss and vinegar. He thought about asking Kamala and Miles about his blunder, since they were woke youngsters, but it was already hard to get any chemistry into their tutoring sessions that week.

“How long were you in jail?”

 “Did they let you talk to a lawyer?”

“Did you ask for a lawyer?”

“Did you ask if you were being detained?”

“Were you scared?”

“Yes,” Peter answered, setting down the pipette he was holding. “Yes, I was very scared. Please don’t get arrested, okay?”

The two teenagers nodded, seriously. Peter then answered the rest of their questions, even described his experience in detail. What was the point of going through all of that it he couldn’t make it useful for his students? They listened appreciatively and learned precisely no chemistry.

Kamala and Miles were not the only people interested to talk to him about his brush with the law, turned out. He met Doreen and Gabby at the church where they were all stuffing mailers, and they had evidently heard of his exploits as well.

“You’re so brave!” Doreen gushed as she re-folded the thick packet for the fourth time. “I would have just started crying the second the cops came near me.”

“No, you wouldn’t,” Peter said, and he meant it. He liked both of them very much and was happy to see them again, later in the week, helping organize a rally for trans rights.

“I didn’t even ask, what are your pronouns?” Gabby asked, shaking the bucket she was holding which was filled with an assortment of pronoun buttons. Peter picked out a “he/him” button and was reminded of his unfortunate exchange with Wade.

“You should grab drinks with us,” Doreen said when the rally was coming to an end. “We’re going to our favorite place, it’s all queers and Antifa folks and whisky!”

That sounded – awesome. Peter couldn’t remember the last time he’d gone for drinks, and though he couldn’t afford an actual beverage, he could at least go be social. He texted Wanda, who met them at the bar, which was hilariously called Sister Margaret’s School for Wayward Children. It looked like a biker bar for extremely gay bikers – everyone inside was covered in piercings and tattoos, and punk was blaring from all corners of the big open room, but Doreen and Gabby were met with enthusiastic waves and cat-calls when they walked in.

“Oh, you’re the protest twink!” the bartender greeted when Doreen introduced Peter to him. “So, was that like a one-off adventure deal or do you actually give a shit about The Cause?”

Doreen leaned across the bar, kissed the bartender (whose name tag read “Weasel”) on the cheek, then pushed him hard in the face.

“Weasel’s never been outside of the bar,” Doreen shared as she guided Peter and Wanda to sit at one end of a long table. “He’s even more socially awkward than me – right, Wade?”

Peter nearly spat out the beer Wanda had insisted on buying him as Doreen looked over his left shoulder.

“That’s true,” he heard a wry voice say as a tall, lanky body sat down next to him. “But when you do it, it’s cute.”

“You two know each other, right?” Gabby smiled, gesturing from Peter to Wade. “Cell mates?”

Peter nodded, hoping his tight-lipped smile didn’t look too weird. Wade sipped his beer and didn’t look at him. Doreen and Gabby and Wanda got along like a house on fire, and it turned out that Wade was Doreen and Gabby’s third roommate, so Peter was grateful that he could just add the occasional “hm” or “oh yeah” to their conversation and seem engaged. He shouldn’t have been surprised when, after about ten minutes of relatively normal socializing, the three women decided they need to go to the bar to do flaming shots and leave Wade and Peter sitting alone, next to each other.

“So have you been out of town?”

If Peter could find whatever demon forced really personal questions out of his mouth any time he was around Wade, he would make himself a demon-skinned hat.

“Yeah,” Wade said. “I hear you’ve been Social Justice Warrioring all over the place.”

His tone was friendly and casual, but Peter couldn’t stand the tension any longer. He’d already said so many humiliating things to and around Wade that he decided to just lay it all out.

“I’m sorry I called you ‘cis,’” he said, turning toward him on the bench. “That was a huge assumption and you’d just gotten out of jail and I shouldn’t have snapped at you. I have a temper.”

Wade looked at him a moment, then also turned on the bench so that they were facing each other properly. “Do you realize,” he said, and Peter had almost forgotten how weirdly expressive his deep voice was, “that you are apologizing to a guy who almost got you killed at a protest and then eavesdropped on a conversation you were having and criticized you for trying to be responsible about what you said to an impressionable child?”

“That’s not what happened,” Peter said, feeling a lightening in his chest even as he reeled from Wade’s interpretation. Had they both been stressed out about this all week? No, because Wade had been away doing something important, he reminded himself.

Wade shrugged. “And I assumed you knew what you were talking about with the ‘cis’ thing, you being a young person and all.”

Peter frowned. “What does that mean?”

“You have all these terms I don’t know!” Wade explained, his voice going comically high. “And they’re great terms, don’t get me wrong, but I just – am an old, un-cool queer so I assume you know what you’re talking about.”

Peter’s brain registered that Wade had referred to himself as queer but he pushed that aside for later. “Well, I’m not as young or as cool as I look,” he said, “but I’m pretty sure you’re only cis if you identify as cis.”

Wade frowned as Gabby and Wanda and Doreen tried to sit back down at the narrow table while high-fiving each other and nearly knocked over all of the beers. “But I don’t think a white gay man who does drag gets to hijack trans identity,” he said. “Like, just because I enjoy dressing up as Judy Garland and lip-syncing doesn’t mean I get to shove a trans flag up my ass and march at Pride.”

“You like Judy Garland?”

Peter threw Wanda a look, but it was too late. “Peter loves Judy,” she said, smirking at him. “He has every single one of her movies on his laptop.”

Wade’s eyes went wide as he looked back at Peter. “I mean, yeah,” Peter confessed, feeling his face grow hot.

“But you go through gender dysphoria sometimes,” Gabby said to Wade. “It’s not like you have an uncomplicated relationship with your body.”

To Peter’s great relief, this started an absolutely intriguing conversation about gender performance and body dysmorphia that thoroughly distracted everyone from his Judy Garland collection. Wade and Gabby talked about how their scarring (sweet Gabby’s face bore a set of long, thin scratches) affected their feelings about their own gender, and they all agreed that social dysphoria was a huge influence on how masculine or feminine they felt or acted. People from other tables or who were just standing nearby even chimed in with their perspectives. Not everyone agreed, but everyone was kind and polite (in this context, polite meant making cheerfully obscene accusations about each other’s grandparents). Peter learned many new words and accidentally had two entire beers, which made getting up from the table extra exciting.

“You have every Judy Garland movie on your laptop?”

Peter held onto the table so he could focus on Wade’s blue eyes. “Yep.”

“Every one.”

“Mm-hm.”

“ _Little Nellie Kelly.”_

Peter grinned. “And every single Andy Hardy.”

“Well,” Wade said, looking somewhat sheepish, “we only have _In the Good Old Summertime,_ but if you want to come over and watch it, maybe next time you could bring your laptop?”

Wade and Gabby and Doreen just lived down the block, and before Peter knew it, he and Wanda were eating horrible cheap pizza and watching the same movie for the second time that week. The ladies continued chatting with each other, and Peter swallowed his mild irritation at not being allowed the monk-like silence in which he preferred to enjoy Judy.

“You know this was originally a Hungarian play,” Wade said to the whole room, but the ladies were busy making more shots in the kitchen.

“Wanda was telling me that,” Peter responded, turning towards Wade on the couch even though his favorite number was starting.

“Well,” Wade turned towards him, enthusiastically, “did you know that –“

Peter did his best to absorb the cavalcade of trivia that Wade poured on him while Judy sang “Put Your Arms Around Me” in the background. The ladies eventually rejoined them, and Peter thoroughly embarrassed himself by passing out on the couch ten minutes before the end of the movie. He woke up to a bemused Wade tapping him on the arm.

“He works like four jobs,” Wanda explained. Peter muttered something about the beer making him sleepy, thanked their hosts, and wandered home to re-pass out on his futon.

*~*~*

“Who would’ve pegged Scary Wade for a Judy fan?”

Peter frowned into his cup of terrible coffee. “Why do people call him Scary? Because of the scars? Does he call himself that?”

“He comes off kind of scary when you first meet him,” Wanda reminded. “I’ve never gotten the impression that he minds, but then I don’t know him as well as you do.”

Now Peter looked up at her and frowned. “What does that mean?”

Wanda shrugged, sipping her own terrible coffee. “You know, you’re jail buddies and all. We couldn’t hardly get you guys’ attention last night.”

Something about her tone set off every alarm bell in Peter’s head. “I’ve met him, like – three times. I just don’t get how he’s supposed to be scary, is all.”

“He asked me about you.”

“What?” Peter asked, too loudly. “When?”

“‘Who is that tiny brave pretty kid?’” she said in a decent approximation of Wade’s distinctive voice. “I ran into him after the planning meeting we went to where you backed him up.”

Wanda sipped her coffee smugly as Peter sat, dumbfounded. “He said that to you? Exactly that?”

She nodded. “Tiny. Brave. Pretty.”

Peter looked out at the river. He didn’t know why he let Wanda drag him to places with terrible coffee just because she’d found a unique view. “I’m fucking sick of people thinking I’m a kid.”

Wanda laughed, and he glared at her. “Of course that’s what you focus on,” she giggled, undeterred. “Not that he thinks you’re pretty and brave.”

Peter downed his terrible coffee in one big, bitter-tasting gulp.

*~*~*

He should have known Wade would be at the Anti-Racist Raffle.

“Gabby and Doreen say we’re not allowed to watch any more Judy at the house,” Wade told him over the punch they were frantically pouring. It was awesome that so many people had showed up, but Peter was starting to get afraid that the little church fellowship hall wouldn’t hold all of them.

“Why not?” Peter asked.

Wade shrugged, frowning. “Evidently not everyone shares our enthusiasm for Ms. Garland.”

“Wanda’s the same way,” Peter shared, handing Wade another pitcher full of orange drink. “Do you want to just come over to my place and watch?”

Peter’s super power of choice would be for the floor to open and swallow him any time he said something really stupid. Or to not say really stupid things ever, maybe that would be a better power.

“Would that be okay?”

He looked up to see Wade trying to look at him while watching the tiny paper cup he was filling with punch. “Yeah,” Peter said, voice pitching too high. “I mean, it’s tiny, it’s really just a futon and my laptop, but –“

“Sounds like all we need for Judy Watching,” Wade said, giving him that crooked half-smile. “Do you have a kitchen?”

“Kind of,” Peter said. “It’s a stove with, like, two eyes and a microwave. I think the oven works?”

“I’ll cook us dinner,” Wade offered, helping Peter arrange the filled cups on a tray. “To make up for my slag roommates kicking us out. Tomorrow night?”

Peter nodded and took the tray of cups out to the refreshment table.

“You okay?” Emma asked as he helped him distribute the cups to the eager crowd. “You look flushed.”

Peter assured her that he was fine, just tired. He was glad she couldn’t hear the way his pulse was pounding in his ears.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I really meant for them to get closer to touching each other in this chapter y'all I swear I'm so sorry
> 
> The next chapter will be all about P&W watching Judy and being cute with no plot complications whatsoever (I'M LYING)
> 
> The next next chapter will be about PRIDE YAAAAY!!!
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and kudosing and commenting -- keep telling me thoughts and ideas!


	5. Where or When

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This was written in a fever-dream-like state between chapters of my Big Bang story which I desperately need to finish. BLESS my wonderful sweet beta, QQI25, for helping me turn it into something postable! <3333

Peter told no one about his date. Because he didn’t have a date. He had a friend coming over to watch a movie. A very tall friend with great big muscles that Peter had kind of seen when he’d taken off his hoodie at the bar to demonstrate how to properly put someone in a headlock.

He did not sleep well after the very successful Anti-Racist Raffle. The next morning, he stared around at his apartment while drinking coffee as quickly as possible, trying to imagine Wade seeing it.

His stove appeared to have a thick layer of dust on it. Great. He would come home after lunch with May, before heading to Job #3, and clean. And he would text Wade (because he had Wade’s number now) and ask if he needed anything from the grocery store, which he could pick up on the way home from tutoring. It was a good plan, and Peter felt relatively organized for once.

And then he checked the national news and discovered that U.S. immigration agents were criminally prosecuting anyone who appeared at the U.S./Mexico border and separating them from their kids.

He read three articles, one by a pediatrician detailing the psychological damage to little kids who were forcibly separated from their grownups, one describing the awful conditions the kids and their grownups were being held in, and another explaining how the Trump administration was justifying the policy and what was being done to stop it. Which was very little. He finally found an article talking about what people could do to help, which was basically give money to the ACLU for their lawsuit and sign a petition.

Peter had spent somewhere around thirty hours in the last couple of weeks volunteering, showing up, rallying, doing what he could where he could to raise money and awareness for various causes. But all he could do about these thousands of scared little kids was sign a fucking petition.

He scrounged around for info about his federal representatives and had an extremely frustration phone conversation on the train with an aid who kept reassuring him that his Congressman was “doing all he could to stop this heinous practice.” As a result, he was five minutes late for his meeting with J. Jonah Jameson. It cost him more time to remember which floor the paper’s offices were on since just about all of his interaction with them was via email.

“How are you?” Betty asked as they waited for J.J. to stop shouting at whoever he was shouting at so that she could let Peter into his office.

“I’m okay,” he said. And then, because he couldn’t help it, “Have you heard about this shit where we’re separating families at the border?”

“Yeah,” Betty said, looking relieved to be able to talk about it. “It’s awful. There’s a petition, right?”

Yes. There was a petition. Peter barely had time to ask her about her fiancé and how wedding-planning was going before J.J. bellowed for him and Betty let him into the office with an encouraging smile.

Peter could just as well as have stayed at home for this “meeting,” which was not a conversation so much as J.J. telling him once again that he would not pay him, why he would not pay him, and what made it legally okay for him to not pay him.

“Now this protest thing,” J.J. said, holding up a photo that Peter immediately recognized from the protest where he’d been arrested, “that’s news, that’s the kind of content we want. Nazis versus Antifa, cops arresting people for sitting in the streets – great stuff. This is the kind of thing people get paid for.”

Peter imagined himself on an ice floe in the North Pole floating peacefully out to sea. He took a deep breath. “Well, Pride is coming up,” he said in a calm voice. “Is that something you’d be interested in?”

“If there’s a fight between Nazis and drag queens, yes.”

Peter frowned. There was nothing inherently wrong with the term “drag queens,” but he didn’t like J.J. using it for some reason. “What if I went down to the U.S./Mexico border and took pictures of immigration agents dragging little kids away from their parents?”

“Oh, isn’t that horrible?” J.J. said, his entire demeanor changing. “I signed the petition.”

While J.J. Jameson being human for a moment was certainly a milestone, Peter left the office building more frustrated than when he’d arrived. He hadn’t even been able to say a proper goodbye to Betty since she’d been on the phone when he left, probably getting yelled at by another white male, which was probably what most of her days consisted of. Ugh.

Peter got through his couple of hours at the lab by looking forward to lunch with May. When he finally got to the hospital and met her in the cafeteria, though, she seemed as tired and distressed as he felt.

“Just a long day,” she reassured him, smiling. “Lots of kiddos.”

Peter decided not to bring up the border issue with May, not then, at least. He gave her an extra big hug and told her to please not work too hard, and she told him to take some of his own advice.

He did go home after lunch, but instead of cleaning, he checked out every local and not-so-local Antifa site he could find to see what direct actions they were recommending. But there were so many things, so many various ways that the U.S. government was oppressing its own citizens that he found very little specifically about the border situation. He went back to the lab for his afternoon shift feeling useless.

Tutoring was usually a high point in his day. Kamala and Miles were as sweet and energetic as ever, but Peter couldn’t stop thinking about the fact that Miles’ mom was Latinx and that Kamala’s family had, Peter was pretty sure, immigrated to the U.S., and that if the fucking racists in charge of the government had their way neither of these kids would be sitting at this table with him.

“It’s what they do,” Wade said as he scooted onions and peppers around in a tiny skillet on Peter’s tiny stovetop. “They ‘double-down’ and try to blame it on the Democrats, and the more outrage there is the happier they are because it makes their super racist base happy.”

Peter sighed as he grated cheese. He’d asked if Wade wanted him to go buy some pre-grated cheese in a bag, but Wade had informed him that such stuff was coated in anticoagulant and was not fit for human consumption. He’d also brought his own cheese grater, assuming rightly that Peter did not own one.

“Don’t conservatives care about kids?” Peter asked. “Isn’t that their whole thing any time they want to oppress us, protecting kids and purity or whatever?”

“By ‘us’ do you mean commie-pinko-leftists or great big queers?”

“Both?”

Wade laughed, a rough, barking sound that made Peter smile. Having Wade here in his kitchen making quesadillas and talking about social justice was surprisingly comfortable.

“This is amazing,” Peter said around a very cheesy bite.

“When was the last time you had a home-cooked meal?” Wade asked, sitting next to him on the futon.

“My aunt and I make dinner together at least once a week,” he said. “But it’s usually Italian.”

“Do you hang out with all of your extended family members once a week, or just your aunt?”

“Just my aunt. She’s kind of it.”

Wade blinked at him. “Kind of it as in family-wise?”

Peter nodded and focused on his quesadilla. He was hoping that one day telling people he was an orphan wouldn’t feel like telling them he had a contagious disease, but grade school trauma seemed to stick to a person.

“Does your aunt allow you to use pre-grated cheese when you make dinner with her?”

Peter laughed, looking back up to see Wade smiling at him around a bite of quesadilla. “What about you?” he asked, suddenly feeling brave.

Wade shook his head. “Just my kiddo. Did you meet her that night after the thing?”

“I saw her with the Prestons.”

“Yeah,” Wade said in kind of a weird voice, abruptly gesturing at Peter’s laptop. “What are we starting with? _A Star is Born_? _Andy Hardy Goes to Prison?”_

“I thought _Babes in Arms,_ ” Peter said, opening the laptop and hoping that Wade didn’t notice he already had the video cued up. “We can skip the unfortunate blackface part.”

“Um, no,” Wade waved his quesadilla indignantly. “Baby Judy was forced to perform that monstrosity of a number and we will watch her and be uncomfortable.”

And they did just that while eating three quesadillas apiece.

“He’s gaslighting her so hard,” Wade said, shaking his head as sweet, love-sick Judy sang “Where or When” to Mickey. “Did you know this was the first film that Busby Berkeley directed in its entirety?”

Watching movies with Wade was a constant stream of witty criticism and trivia. Peter found he actually preferred it to monk-like silence. But as they watched the horde of mysteriously un-supervised little kids play musical instruments, his thoughts turned back to what had preoccupied him all day.

“Is there anything we can do about those kids at the border?”

“You can give money to the ACLU,” Wade said, an edge to his voice. “And you can call your representative and yell at an aid. And you can sign the petition.”

“I did all of those things this morning,” Peter sighed, “except give money.” He suddenly felt guilty for the little savings account he’d built up – why should he get to go to grad school when kids were being taken from their parents?

“There are plenty of rich white liberals to give to the ACLU,” Wade dismissed. “And the lawsuit can only keep them from taking kids whose families are seeking amnesty, not the other poor assholes who are just desperate to get somewhere relatively safe.”

“So there’s nothing?” Peter asked. He felt childish, but the thought tortured him, the thought of all the awful things being done all the time that he couldn’t do anything about.

“I mean, you could take an automatic rifle down to the border and start shooting immigration officers.”

Peter stared right into Wade’s pretty blue eyes, trying to see how serious he was. “Yeah?”

Wade’s bark of a laugh filled his apartment again. “I mean, after a while you might have the strength of the U.S. military coming down on you, but you could help a few people get away.”

What disturbed Peter the most was that such thoughts hadn’t not crossed his mind. “You know in _Phantom Menace_ when Emperor Palpatine tells Queen Amidala to wait for the courts to get the Trade Federation out of Naboo and she’s like, no that will take forever, so she goes home and takes it back herself?”

“Pretty sure he’s still Senator Palpatine when that happens,” Wade corrected, “and also those movies are trash.”

Peter told Wade where he could stick his negative view of the prequels, and Wade informed Peter that he only liked them because he’d been a little kid when they came out. Their banter was so lively that Peter actually managed to stay awake through an entire movie.

The next day, Peter searched more Antifa sites for direct actions, shared articles about the border situation on his social media (which he hadn’t logged into for possibly years), and signed up to work events with various local organizations. He knew it didn’t solve anything, but he was trying.

“Another rough day?” he asked May across the cafeteria table.

She smiled at him, looking just as exhausted as the day before. “Yep. Must be a full moon.”

He wanted so badly to make her feel better that he slipped up and told her he’d had a boy over to his house for dinner and a movie. May honest to goodness squealed, making a few doctors and nurses look their way. Peter felt his entire face grow hot, but seeing May smile and suddenly light up with a hundred questions was well worth the embarrassment.

*~*~*

“You know, this was the one film she actually got made during the great nervous breakdown of 1949?”

Peter thought May was the expert on Judy trivia, but Wade was challenging her for the title. “Is that why she looks so different from scene to scene?” he asked.

“Yes!” Wade said, nearly throwing his tacos in excitement. (Wade could only make Mexican food, turned out, but he made it very well.)

“I’ve been thinking about what you said,” Peter told him later as they watched Gene sing “You, Wonderful You” to Judy. “About going down to the border with a rifle.”

Wade’s expression closed off slightly. “Yeah?”

“At what point is that actually the thing you have to do?” Peter asked. “I mean – Nazis did shit like this, tore families up to try to scare the hell out of people, and we look at that in history and go, well why didn’t anyone do anything? Why didn’t those people stop it?”

Wade hadn’t run away in disgust but was still looking at him intently. “So, I mean – when are we them?” Peter continued. “When is it so bad that we have a moral obligation to stop it with violence?”

“Some people,” Wade said, quietly, “would say that violence is never the answer.”

Peter felt a sting in his chest. Ben would say that. Would have said that, if he hadn’t been killed by senseless violence. Peter felt frustrated and ashamed.

“I wouldn’t say that, though,” Wade said.

He looked up to see Wade’s half-smile, so interesting in how it his scars shifted around his mouth muscles. Peter realized he was staring at Wade’s lips and looked back at the movie.

*~*~*

“So two dates?”

Peter should never have asked Wanda to work this protest rally with him. “They’re not dates, we’re just hanging out.”

Wanda nodded, smiling as she handed out pamphlets. “Two nights in a row. Sure.”

“Did you get your stupid promotion?” Peter asked as he directed people towards the rally.

“Public Affairs Officer.”

Peter was so overcome with joy that he enveloped her in a hug, nearly crushing her pamphlets.

“It’s not that I didn’t expect you to get it,” he explained, “it’s just –“

“It’s nice when good things happen,” she shouted over the beautiful sounds of people yelling about how Trump’s border policies were inhumane and unjust.

*~*~*

“You don’t have to always make dinner,” Peter said for the hundredth time as he opened beers while Wade stirred his enchilada sauce, a super secret recipe that he would not allow Peter to watch him season. “We can order in.”

“Take out will not help you grow up big and strong,” Wade said. Peter frowned at the crack about their age difference and didn’t tell Wade that it wasn’t unusual for him to have a sleeve of crackers for dinner.

The next night was dinner with May, so Peter and Wade made plans to watch _Little Nellie Kelly_ later in the week. It was a good thing he had something to look forward to, because over dinner Peter found out what had been upsetting his aunt.

“I’m not laid off,” she explained. “They’re just cutting back my hours.”

Peter tried to swallow the delicious vodka-sauce-covered penne in his mouth, but it tasted like sand all of the sudden. “By how much, or did they even tell you?”

They had not told her. Just that they were cutting back the hours she could do her job, and it sounded like they were doing that to all the nurses. Budget problems, staffing problems, cut backs. Not enough support for the busiest ER in the city.

“Hey, it’ll be fine,” May assured him, covering his hand with hers. “I’ve sent my info out through the Nurse Network and already gotten some bites.”

Peter had no doubt that the close community May had developed over decades of nursing would support her, but he couldn’t rely on that. She would not go without, not while he was around. Time to find job #4.

“Send me your resume,” Wanda told him while they sorted clothing items from canned food at the homeless shelter. “And some of your photos.”

“You don’t have to get me a job at Stark Tech just because you’re a big deal Public Relations Empress now.”

“Public Affairs Officer,” she corrected, “and it’s worth a shot. We have benefits.”

“They’re not going to give benefits to a contract photographer,” he sighed. But at midnight when he was still sending out resumes to any job posting in the city, he sent one to Wanda as well, along with some pictures that he didn’t hate.

*~*~*

“You know she thought she was ugly her whole life?”

Peter looked at Wade, but he was still watching Judy sing on the tiny screen. “She did?”

Wade nodded. “An MGM exec called her his ‘little hunchback,’ when she was a teenager, and it just stuck with her for her whole life. Can you believe that shit?”

Peter could, unfortunately. Looking at the six pack holder on the ground between them, he could see that Wade had consumed about four beers while Peter had drunk half of one and stopped when he got drowsy. Could it be that Wade was experiencing an emo moment? He didn’t look sad, exactly, but maybe – wistful? Peter couldn’t think of what to say so he just kind of hummed.

“I love your grumpy noises.”

Wade grinned as Peter gaped at him. “My what?”

“You make little grumpy noises,” Wade shrugged, giggling. “It’s not my fault. It’s cute.”

All of the air seemed to have been suddenly sucked out of the room. Peter watched Wade to see if the remark had as significant an effect on him, but he couldn’t tell. Wade was watching Judy, but he did maybe look a little bit awkward. Probably not.

They watched their movie in silence for a while, no political commentary, no trivia.

“Did you ever figure out your direct action about the border atrocities?”

Peter sighed. “I may have to slow down on my social justice warrior-ing. My aunt’s getting cut back at her job, so I have to make more money.”

“That’s okay,” Wade said, gently. “You gotta take care of your people.”

Peter wanted to ask him about this little girl. He wanted to ask him what he did when he was out of town, what he did for a living, what the military had been like, if his scars still hurt and if they were really from burns. He had a lot of questions, but none of them came outside as he just stared at Wade for a moment, watching the light from the screen dance over his face. Wade looked back at him. Judy sang to them in the background.

“What are we doing?” Wade asked, quietly.

Peter suddenly felt weirdly protective of the slightly older, much bigger man sitting on his futon with him. He was probably imagining the almost vulnerable look on Wade’s face. They had made penne alla vodka together at Peter’s insistence – it was probably just the vodka mixing with the beer making him see things that weren’t there.

“We’re just watching Judy,” Peter said, trying to sound reassuring.

The air didn’t so much get sucked out of the room as it felt like everything lifted, held in place. For a moment, anything could have happened. Wade was a foot away from him, just as he had been multiple nights over the past week. Peter could close that distance. It wouldn’t be hard, would hardly require any effort.

Wade turned his eyes back to the screen, and Peter did likewise. He woke up to Wade poking him in the shoulder.

“You cannot sleep sitting up,” Wade groused. “You’re going to grow up to have a crooked back.”

Peter made what he supposed was a grumpy noise and showed Wade how to lay the futon down into its bed position. He followed Wade to the door and locked it after him, laughing when Wade wiggled the knob from outside to make sure he was secure. Then Peter collapsed onto his laid-out futon and fell instantly asleep.

Three nights later, they made mac and cheese (which Wade said was a happy medium between Italian and Mexican) and Peter woke up the next morning on his laid-out futon with a blanket over him. Wade had put the futon into bed-mode all on his own, covered Peter up, and managed to latch his door from the outside, using his Special Forces skills, no doubt.

Peter spent the time that he should have spent looking for jobs masturbating furiously on his comfy, bed-mode futon, trying not to think of blue eyes and a lopsided smile and failing spectacularly.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter 6 = Pride NYC and touches!!! All kinds of touches!!!
> 
> Here's Judy singing "Where or When": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=U9W1AwzKctQ
> 
> Here's a tumblr post that I saw just this morning about what you can actually do to help the U.S.'s "zero tolerance" immigration policy: https://crockzilla.tumblr.com/post/175038974220/captacorn-marvelsmostwanted-heres-a-call
> 
> Thank you all SO MUCH for kudos and comments and ideas and questions! Tumble me! crockzilla.tumblr.com


	6. Get Happy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Pride, The Wizard of Oz, and mood-altering drugs = sexy times

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry that this is a week late! My Spideypool Prompt Bang fic (with gorgeous art by two gorgeous artists) is almost completely posted now, so there should be no more interruptions!

Evidently, Peter wasn’t the only person particularly bothered by the fact that little children were being incarcerated at the southern U.S. border. Within a week, there were protests, direct actions, lots of lists circulating on social media with resources to contact and support. Even the federal government appeared to be paying marginal attention to the fact that it was committing human rights violations.

Peter, of course, couldn’t stop thinking about all the thousands of kids who’d already been separated from their families, the thousands of adults who were still being mistreated by the authorities. He thought of his own tiny brush with the law and how scary it had been and imagined how much more frightening it would be to have no idea how long you’d be arrested for or why or what to do.

He also couldn’t stop thinking about Wade’s suggestion: that one could, conceivably, go to the actual place where this was happening and do something about it. Stop people from being hurt. Peter was young. He was reasonably fit. He had a little bit of money saved. He could travel the however many hundreds of miles and do something, maybe not fight immigration agents but – chain himself to something, yell at them. Something. His brain said that his savings were for grad school and he needed to stay here and work to help May, but his heart wondered if that wasn’t just an excuse.

“You do a lot,” Wanda assured him as she carefully sprinkled glitter onto her Pride poster. “You can’t fix everything by yourself.”

But that attitude was what kept nice young white boys inside their apartments making glittery posters for Pride with their friends instead of putting themselves on the line for people who needed help. Peter didn’t say that to Wanda, though – he was getting better at not needing to shit his cognitive dissonance all over everyone he knew.

He wished he could talk to Wade about it again. There was something about the way Wade talked about social justice that scared the hell out of him, and he had started to crave it. Wade was the only other person he knew who was always eager to talk about the awful state of the world.

But he didn’t see or hear from Wade for a week, not since his feverish (and successful) masturbation party on his futon that Wade had laid out for him. The superstitious part of his brain said that was definitely why Wade was ignoring him, because he somehow knew that Peter had just given the fuck in and imagined Wade’s gorgeous blue eyes looking at him, his scarred hands touching him all over. Peter had made things psychically weird.

When he did see Wade, it was at a direct action meeting, of course. Peter was listening to Emma talk about how they were all going to meet outside of their state rep’s building and throw diapers and other essentials over the gate, and that other groups in cities all over the country would do this same thing at the same time. Peter’s insides sort of glowed at the thought – until he saw a familiar hand go up elsewhere in the crowd.

“Yes, Wade?” Emma sighed.

Peter’s heart leapt in his chest as the tall, lanky, hoodie-wearing frame popped up from the crowd. “Or, alternatively, we could go to the ICE headquarters and physically stop their vans from going out into the city to round up ‘undesirables.’ That’s also a thing we could do. But sure, go throw diapers over a fence so that they can all get thrown away and not go to anyone who needs help.”

Emma actually laid her head down on her podium for a moment while Wade told the group where they could find more information about the ICE headquarters and how to fuck with them. Peter tried hard not to smile like an idiot as he listened.

“So have you been out of town?” Peter asked after the meeting when he’d managed to end up close to Wade at the snack table.

Wade sipped his tiny cup of orange drink. “Nope.”

Peter felt suddenly like he’d eaten an entire lemon. It was hard to get his teeth apart. “Oh,” he said, lightly, then turned away as casually as he could and went in search of Doreen and Gabby.

“How excited are you for Pride?” Doreen asked, gesticulating broadly. Peter just loved her.

“So excited?” he shrugged. “I’ve never really been before.”

Both women gasped loudly. “Would you like to volunteer with us?” Gabby asked. “It’s the absolute most fun way to experience Pride.”

“A lot of it’s actually boring and awful,” Doreen whispered, loudly, “but it does feel like you’re, you know, doing something good instead of just prancing around in ass-less chaps.”

“Though that’s a completely valid way to celebrate Pride,” Gabby laughed. “Right, Wade?”

Goddamnit. Of course talking to Doreen and Gabby would necessarily mean encountering Wade again.

“Ah, I will not be indulging in the ass-less chaps this year,” he said. “I will be marching with the ‘Ugly Queers’ gang dressed as Judy.”

Peter could feel Wade glance at him, but he was resolutely not rising to the bait. He had actually texted Wade days ago, which was a huge thing for him, and Wade didn’t get to make up for his rudeness just by bringing up Judy.

“Dressed as Judy from what?” Doreen asked.

“ ‘Get Happy,’ of course,” Wade said. “What’s more radically queer than a pansexual burn victim in nylons?”

Peter sipped his punch and didn’t look at Wade as Doreen and Gabby tried to come up with something more radically queer. He could not keep his brain from supplying him with images of Wade wearing nothing but heels, nylon stockings, and a suit coat. He was vaguely aware of Gabby telling Wade that Peter had never been to Pride before and would be volunteering with them.

“Aw,” he heard the wiry voice, and he accidentally looked up to see Wade smiling that damn lop-sided smile of his. “Baby’s First Pride.”

And that. Was. It. “Why the fuck do you constantly make comments about my age?”

Doreen choked on her orange drink, and Gabby patted her back. Even Wade took a moment to respond. “Why does it bother you?” he asked.

“Because I am an adult and you are an adult,” Peter said, trying to control his volume, “and I would like to have an adult-type relationship with you.”

He noticed that Doreen and Gabby had quickly found other people in the crowd near them to talk to, leaving him to face Wade. He was both thrilled and horrified to realize that he had the man’s full attention, but he held his gaze. After a while, Wade looked down, crumpling his empty paper cup in one hand.

“Sorry,” he muttered.

Peter had no idea what to do. He had seen the smallest glimpse of a vulnerable version of Wade in the dark in his living room, but he’d been able to convince himself he was imagining that. Now he was confronted with Wade looking mildly unsure and contrite in a crowded, well-lit room where there was no denying it was happening.

“It’s okay,” Peter said, quietly. “Sorry I got mad.”

Wade raised an eyebrow at him, an expression Peter was much more capable of handling. “Again with the apologizing for someone else being an asshole to you.”

“I can apologize for whatever I want,” Peter shot back without thinking.

Wade smiled. It was – well, it was cute. No other word for it. Devastatingly cute.

“I guess I’ll see you at Pride if you’ll be hanging out with these trollops,” Wade said, indicating his roommates. He gave Peter a small wave and turned and left the community hall.

When he got back to his building, Peter was greeted by his pit-bull friend. He hadn’t seen Puppy in a while and gave him extra-good scritches on both of his scarred ears. He also decided that Puppy wasn’t a good enough name.

“I think I’ll call you ‘Wade,’” Peter murmured as Puppy Wade noisily gobbled up the fries Peter had saved for him. “Is that okay?”

Puppy Wade gave his face a particularly wet lick before bounding back down the alley. Peter took that as a yes.

*~*~*

Pride was hot. As. Balls.

It wasn’t so much that it was hot as it was unbelievably humid. All morning, the weather vacillated between misting rain and intense sunshine. But while Peter was slowly melting into a puddle of goo, the rest of NYC’s queer community was partying as if it was a lovely crisp day in the fall. He had never imagined that he would see so many people dancing ecstatically while they were gently misted with rain, as if the universe were spraying them so that they would look enticingly sweaty. He was very glad he’d been brave and worn shorts, though he was not a shorts guy and the ones he found at the bottom of his closet had seemed particularly short when he’d put them on.

“Isn’t it great?” Doreen called to him over the constant din of techno music.

Peter laughed as they dragged a person dressed as a sparkly purple T-Rex into the First Aid tent. It actually was great – it was hot and loud and there were all kinds of people having a wonderful time together, even this dehydrated gay T-Rex. Peter’s cold heart was especially warmed by seeing all of the young people who were there, lots of them with people who looked like their parents. It made him wish he’d figured himself out a bit earlier in his life so that he could’ve brought May and Ben to Pride – they would have enjoyed painting their faces and waving colorful banners around.

On his break, he tried to locate the First Aid tent where May was stationed – she had, of course, signed up to volunteer as soon as she found out that Peter was finally going to a Pride, which she had been subtly encouraging him to do ever since he came out. He found her patching up a person about her age but with that adorable haircut that lots of fifty-plus queer women wore, chatting with her animatedly.

“Looks like you’re making friends,” Peter said, glancing over May’s shoulder at the woman who was still gazing sort of wistfully at her.

“Yeah!” May hugged him tight, oblivious to her admirer. “Are you having a good time? Is your boyfriend here?”

“No no,” Peter said, feeling himself flush even more than the heat was already inducing him to do, “not boyfriend, just friend.”

“Oh,” May smirked, holding up her fingers for air-quotes. “ ‘Friend.’ Okay.”

Just as Peter was about to insist to May that really, no, Wade was not his boyfriend, Wanda burst into the First Aid tent holding her sparkly Bi-Pride poster. “There you are -- I think I see Wade, come on!”

Peter tried to ignore May’s smug giggling as Wanda pulled him back out to the street.

“How the hell can you pick anybody out in this?” Peter said as they slithered through the press of hundreds of bodies. Wanda grinned and pointed at a cluster of signs moving down the street, all of which said things like Pride Is Corporate and Hug An Ugly Queer.

Before he could protest, she had started moving with the tide of the parade and was expertly maneuvering them sideways towards the Ugly Queers cluster. Peter bumped and rubbed against so many other bodies as she dragged him along that he couldn’t apologize to everyone, but no one seemed to mind – there were just lots of colorful faces encouraging him to have a “Happy Pride!” Suddenly their lateral motion stopped and they were walking forward. Peter looked next to Wanda to see Wade, dressed immaculately as Judy from the famous “Get Happy” number, marching along in nylons and heels as if it was the most comfortable thing in the world. He was horrified to realize that he was very blatantly staring at Wade’s thighs, and when he finally shook himself and looked at Wade’s face, the tall man wore a knowing smirk.

“Nice shorts,” Wade said, raising a suggestive eyebrow at Peter’s bare legs.

“Thanks,” Peter said, trying to subtly adjust them as he walked. “Nice, uh – jacket. Aren’t you hot?”

Peter’s eyes flickered to the suit jacket that barely covered Wade’s ass. He realized they were marching right next to each other, and he looked around Wade to see that Wanda, the traitor, was chatting with Weasel, who was dressed as what looked like a BDSM version of Glenda the Good Witch.

“I don’t know,” Wade said, holding his poster aloft as they passed by news cameras, “am I hot?”

Peter laughed before he could stop himself, and Wade joined him. There was just something about Pride that made even the most woke, contrarian activists giddy with glee, he supposed.

After marching another block, Peter excused himself to go back to his volunteering station. He probably imagined the look of concern on Wade’s face as he watched him wind his way back through the massive crowd.

As exciting and fulfilling as everything was, by early afternoon, Peter was starting to feel the effects of the heat and the non-stop standing. He was relieved when their lead volunteer announced that the parade shift had completed their time, leaving him, Gabby, and Doreen free to go.

“We could go to Pride Island!” Doreen suggested as they emerged onto the street. There, waiting for them on the somewhat-less-crowded curb, was Wade, still decked out in his nylons and heels, the signature Judy fedora perched jauntily on his bald head. Peter marveled at how such a huge human could look so graceful.

“Or,” Wade said to them, “we could go back to our place and take Ecstasy and watch _The Wizard of Oz._ ”

Peter gulped as Doreen and Gabby started clapping their hands and jumping up and down, but then Wade’s blue eyes found his and he heard himself agree.

*~*~*

“You look nice in your short-shorts.”

Peter felt a smile spread over his whole face. He and Wade were sitting with each other on the couch in Wade, Gabby, and Doreen’s apartment. Wade’s roommates, Wanda, and a few other people who Peter vaguely recognized from Sister Margaret’s and from direction action stuff were dancing around the living room, singing “Ding Dong the Witch Is Dead” at the top of their voices. No one appeared to be paying attention to them, and the movie felt like a blissful party that was happening in the background as Peter gazed into Wade’s blue, blue eyes. He wondered what they would taste like and if Wade would object to him licking them.

“You look nice in your nylons,” Peter replied, finally. Wade had changed into jeans and a t-shirt before they’d passed the Ecstasy around, but the image was still emblazoned in Peter’s brain.

“Really?” Wade asked, blue eyes hilariously big.

“I don’t know why people call you Scary Wade,” Peter said, patting at Wade’s face with his open hand. “I want to wrap you in a blanket burrito and say happy things to you and treat you like a princess.”

Wade’s eyes got even more hilariously bigger. Peter kept patting at his soft, soft face. Ecstasy was truly wonderful.

“We should probably have sex,” Wade said.

Peter felt like someone was breathing fire in his insides, but it wasn’t an unpleasant heat like he’d been in all morning. It was more like an exciting heat. He was alive and he was petting Wade’s face and Wade had just said they should have sex.

The light coming through the window in Wade’s bedroom was like a thousand suns. Wade must have felt the same way, because he quickly pulled the plain curtains together, creating what Peter thought was a very romantic atmosphere. Even the empty Funion bags and dirty laundry littering the floor looked bathed in sensual shadows.

And then he was kissing Wade.

Yep – the part of his brain that was sober explained to the rest of his brain that he had just low-key tackled Wade down onto his own bed and was now straddling his hips, kissing him full on the mouth. Wade seemed surprised but did not appear to mind – his lips were rough and textured and tasted like strawberries, which was probably the Ecstasy talking, but still. Peter’s hands were on either of Wade’s pectorals, which were as deliciously meaty feeling as he had fantasized they were.

Wade was giggling into his mouth, and Peter realized he was squeezing Wade’s pecs. “Sorry,” he laughed, their mouths close together.

“No, I like it,” Wade murmured before flipping their positions. Wade’s long body was over him, pressing him into the bed but not in a rude way, in a gently, sweet way that made Peter feel like his heart was going to explode. Clearly, he had not let himself acknowledge how very much he’d wanted this.

“Is this okay?” Wade asked. Peter was looking into his lovely eyes, so close to his face, and he nodded, dreamily. Then he realized Wade’s hand was working at the zipper of his shorts and that was probably what he was talking about.

“Yes!” Peter said, way too enthusiastically. He immediately reached down and helped Wade undo his shorts, letting his hands fall to the sides as Wade’s fingers hooked into his waistband and began to pull his boxers and shorts down his hips.

Peter heard Wade kind of growl as he looked at him, and he realized that if he wasn’t full of Ecstasy he would be super self-conscious about his dick size, his skinny thighs, his bony ass, his whole body. But at the moment, he could only feel himself about to shake out of his skin with happiness.

“This drug is fantastic,” Peter announced.

Wade nodded, looking up to grin at him, thumbs sweeping circles over either of his hip bones. “Yeah – it’s like meth, but soft.”

“Soft!meth,” Peter sighed. He thought he could spend the rest of his life with Wade’s rough thumbs making circles over his hip joints, Wade’s fingertips kind of kneading his ass. He felt like he had a gigantic boner, and he glanced down to see that he did indeed. And Wade was hovering over it as if it was a sexy ice cream cone.

“Is it okay if I suck your cock?”

Peter nodded, feeling like he was underwater. He expected Wade to wrap a hand around the base of his dick and nearly screamed in surprise when Wade somehow leaned down and took him all the way in. Was he hallucinating? No – he could definitely feel all of his penis, and it was definitely entirely encased in Wade’s warm, wet mouth and throat.

“Shit,” Peter hissed, fingers scrabbling at the bedspread as Wade’s tongue moved against him. It been a minute since anyone had done this for him, and he had always thought that being able to open your throat to take a guy all the way down was a myth. It was very, very real.

He tried so hard not to thrust up into Wade’s sweet mouth, knowing from experience that it was not a nice thing to have done to you. Luckily, Wade’s big hands held him fast, pressing his hips into the soft bedspread. Peter tried to squirm, to get some relief from the pleasure, but Wade’s strong arms braced him. He knew he was making sounds, probably sounds he would be embarrassed about later, but the soft!meth made it so he didn’t care. He loved soft!meth.

And then his dick was sliding out of Wade’s mouth and Wade released his head with a delightful “pop” sound. He looked down to see if he’d done something wrong, if Wade was suddenly disgusted with him (goddamn his bony ass). But when he met Wade’s lovely eyes, they were hooded and hungry, and Wade leaned down again, this time kissing him at the juncture of his groin and thigh.

Peter laid his head back and moaned as Wade’s mouth and tongue worked their way over his hip, moving up his body. Wade’s fingers gently pushed his t-shirt up, exposing his stomach, which Wade kissed and licked, making Peter let out a little squeak. Wade laughed and kept moving slowly up to swipe his tongue around one of Peter’s nipples. Peter’s hands were on Wade’s back, running over the scarred skin on his head. He whined and arched his back, pushing himself towards Wade to try to get more contact.

“I want you to come in my mouth,” Wade panted, “is that okay?”

Peter nodded. Wade showed him that beautiful half-smile, and Peter couldn’t help but reach out and touch it, grazing Wade’s lips with his fingertips. Wade’s eyes widened slightly, and he took Peter by the wrist, sucking his first two fingers into his mouth. It was deliciously hot and Peter whined when Wade pulled them out.

“I want you to keep your nipples nice and wet for me, okay?” he instructed. Peter nodded, obediently circling his saliva-slick fingers over what he thought was his nipple and missing a couple of times before he found it. Wade didn’t notice his clumsiness – he was busy inserting two of his own fingers into his mouth to pull them out glistening and wet.

“Is this okay?” he asked, holding his fingers for Peter to see. Peter nodded. He didn’t know why Wade needed his permission to suck on his own fingers, but he liked watching it very much.

Then Wade slithered back down his body and Peter felt a warm, wet digit between his ass cheeks and realized why Wade had asked him if it was okay.

The last time Peter had dated anyone, if you could call it that, there had been a few blow jobs and a couple of sad handsies. His asshole could not remember the last time anyone besides Peter had touched it, and it was very excited about Wade’s textured fingers rubbing at it in circles. Peter’s breath was coming in gasps and he thought his lungs would explode.

“Your pretty nips are getting dry,” Wade purred. Peter clumsily stuck his fingers back in his mouth and then circled them around his nipples, making them into stiff little peaks. He saw Wade grin, pleased with him, and it sent a wave of need through his whole body. He was going to come from Wade’s fingers pressing at his asshole and the sight of Wade’s lopsided grin.

Then, defying physics, Wade kept up what he was doing to his ass while wrapping his other hand around Peter’s cock and bending over it, taking the head in his mouth. Peter had to give up and close his eyes, too overwhelmed to watch or try to process how many ways Wade was making his body feel good. He managed to kind of squeeze his right nipple between his fingers just before he came, and then he couldn’t keep his hands from fisting as he curled up, trying to curl toward Wade’s hands and mouth. He felt the tip of Wade’s index finger push past his tight ring of muscle just as he crested the edge.

Peter’s eyes blinked open as Wade slid next to him and wrapped one big arm around his waist. He turned his head to kiss him, tasting his own come in Wade’s mouth. Peter moaned and moved his hand down Wade’s chest, palming his crotch and feeling a very big, very erect cock under his jeans before Wade grasped his wrist.

“Now you?” Peter asked, voice too high.

Wade shook his head and kissed him again. Peter made a sort of sad sound. “I’m happy, believe me,” Wade smiled, placing Peter’s hand back on his chest. “How ‘bout you just squeeze my tits some more?”

“Feels good?” Peter laughed, gently squeezing Wade’s oh so meaty pectoral which filled up his entire hand. Wade moaned and closed his eyes, laying his head against the pillow.

Peter lay his head down so that their noses touched – he knew that it was the Ecstasy, but he felt like their bodies were the same thing, that their skin was just a thin membrane between them. He could hear their friends singing “King of the Forest” very loudly in the living room, and someone (possibly Wanda) was doing a spot-on Bert Lahr impression.

 “Things are going to be weird when we sober up, huh?”

“No,” Peter sighed, pressing their foreheads together. All of Wade’s skin felt so, so good. “Maybe. But it’ll be okay, we’ll figure it out.”

As Peter felt himself falling asleep, he heard a wry voice close to his ear whisper, “Happy Pride.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> BLESS Morghn and Porky and Spaz for describing to me what it's like to be on Ecstasy, and extra blessing to Spaz for the image of naked asses dancing in the mist of Pride.
> 
> I should be back to regular posting now, woohoo!!!
> 
> Here's Wade's Pride outfit if you're curious: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=VGk3tY4yP7k
> 
> Tumble me! crockzilla.tumblr.com


	7. Ballin' the Jack

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am so ashamed that this is so late, but it's an extra-long chapter!
> 
> Also there is sexy touching.

Police murdering people of color. Muslim ban declared legal. Little kids still in concentration camps.

Doreen had warned him that lots of folks experienced a depressive period right after coming down from Ecstasy, but Peter was pretty sure the world was just having a depressive period.

“People have always been horrible to each other,” Wanda reminded him over their lunch. “That’s history. You just have to do as much as you can to help people around you.”

Peter knew she was right. He just wasn’t sure if more people would be helped by their going to another protest, even one that was part of a nationwide effort. But he re-tweeted and called and emailed representatives with all his might, hoping that any of it might somehow do some good. He felt terrible for not reaching out to Emma or Preston to help organize any of the direct actions for the weekend, but applying for jobs was still eating up all of his non-work time.

And then he got an email from Stark Tech.

“A phone interview?” Wanda asked, eagerly.

“In person,” he said. “Is that good?”

“Yes, that’s good!” Wanda said, nearly throwing her arugula. “We rarely ask people to come in unless we’re already serious about them -- who’s interviewing you? I hope it’s Maria. It won’t be me because conflict of interest, but –“

Peter tried to absorb all of the information and advice Wanda was imparting. He loved her so much for talking to him about social justice and work and not bringing up his sexy Pride adventure with Wade.

Just as Wade had predicted, things had gotten weird. After the amazing sex and the cuddling that had made him pathetically happy, Peter fully expected to never hear from the man again and to have only awkward accidental encounters.

But then he got a text from Wade.

_Drinks at Sister Marg’s?_

It wasn’t, like, the most romantic invitation he could imagine, but it was an invitation and he hated his heart for fluttering when he got it. He quickly squashed any flutters with the thought that Wade wasn’t inviting him to either of their apartments for dinner and Judy-watching but to a public place for drinks – a serious intimacy downgrade. Wade was going to explain to him that he wasn’t his type and that the sex had been terrible and that they should never see each other again. Cool.

“I thought we should hang out somewhere that we couldn’t easily have spontaneous sex,” Wade explained after they’d sat awkwardly across from each other for a few minutes.

Peter felt himself blush. He sipped his drink.

“Although there is a dungeon in the back,” Wade added, looking furtively across the crowded, noisy bar. “Shit.”

“Is that because sex was a bad idea?” Peter asked.

“Well, I dunno,” Wade shrugged, looking into his Sea Breeze. “You seemed to have fun at the time, but—“

“I did have fun,” Peter nearly choked on his Sprite. “A lot of fun.”

Wade continued staring into his drink, but the side of his mouth tugged up a bit. Peter felt himself blush some more, because of course he did.

“Are you barricading ICE vans this weekend?” Peter asked, groping for an easy conversation topic. “I think I’ll go to Emma’s protest, but it’s been a while since I was arrested, so –”

He had really hoped to at least get a proper smile for that one, but Wade looked sort of startled. “Oh, uh – I’m actually out of town this weekend.”

Hm. Peter sipped his Sprite some more. Wade sipped his Sea Breeze, staring at him.

“Don’t get arrested without me here, okay?” Wade blurted. “Just – I trust Preston, obviously, but –“

“Can we skip this?” Peter cut him off. “Can we just be dating and skip the weirdness, please? Aren’t we there yet?”

This time he got the smile he was after, and what do you know – it made Peter smile, too. He glanced around to see if anyone was looking at them, the two idiots smiling into their sugary drinks in a queer leather bar. With a dungeon in the back, evidently.

“I guess we did skip some steps,” Wade admitted. “Sorry, that’s kind of an unhealthy tendency of mine.”

Fuck. What? Fuck. “Oh, yeah?” Peter said.

“I go right to sex because it’s not as scary as using my words,” Wade explained. “That is, at least, what Shiklah tells me.”

Peter’s stomach fell down into his shoes. Shiklah. Only beautiful and interesting women were called things like that. “Oh,” he said, quietly.

“Not girlfriend,” Wade corrected, quickly. “Shiklah’s my Dom.”

Oh. Peter’s stomach traveled back up to its proper spot, but now his brain felt like it was churning molasses as he tried to recall everything he knew about kinky stuff.

“So she dominates me,” Wade helped, watching him carefully. “It’s not so much sex as it’s power exchange. But sometimes it’s kinda sex.”

Peter nodded, trying to look like he talked about this sort of thing all the time.

“So there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Wade finally said, “is I guess what I’m saying.”

“Well, there’s a lot you don’t know about me,” Peter shot back.

Wade raised an eyebrow. “Yeah?”

“I mean,” Peter sighed, “no, not really.”

Wade laughed, then grimaced, then put his forehead down on the table and groaned into the tacky, beer-stained wood.

“What?” Peter asked, stopping his hand from reaching across the table.

“Nothing, you’re just –“ Wade lifted his head from the table but buried his face in his hands. “You’re really cute.”

Peter could have screamed. He also couldn’t breathe and felt like his ass had levitated off of the wooden bench. “I think you’re cute, too,” he managed.

Wade peeked at him through his fingers. “Fuck off.”

“I do,” he laughed. He was blushing, but he didn’t mind. Maybe it was the Sprite. “I guess we should have had this conversation before fooling around, huh?”

Wade smiled, lopsidedly. “I mean, you did say something about wrapping me in a blanket and treating me like a princess, so—“

Peter groaned, mortified, and Wade giggled, which was adorable. They spent the rest of their actual date actually talking and asking each other questions. The conversation didn’t come back to exciting kinky activities again, which Peter was both relieved and disappointed by, but they covered basics. Wade was in “wealth management,” which Peter thought was probably a euphemism but he didn’t push. He told Wade about all of his lame jobs and his aspirations to be a chemistry professor. He did not tell Wade about the Stark Tech interview he had in the morning because he didn’t want Wade to think he was a corporate shill.

*~*~*

“So, transcript looks great, straight A’s, chemistry, bio engineering – wait, what job am I interviewing you for?”

Peter blinked at Tony Stark as the billionaire playboy philanthropist shuffled papers around on his fancy desk. “Photographer,” Peter said, helpfully. “I think.”

“Right,” Tony said, finger-gunning at him. “How’d you get into that with all the science and actual fun stuff you studied?”

“I minored in photography,” Peter pointed out. “And I’ve worked for the _Bugle_ for a few years, and I have a portfolio –“

“Right, fabulous,” Tony said, picking up the folder Peter had gestured at and flipping through it, haphazardly. “And it’s, like, a hard-copy, that’s so 1994, I love it.”

Peter thought he should probably be offended but he was not. Tony Stark, who had insisted that Peter call him Tony, seemed well intentioned and a bit lost.

“Can I ask, why are you the one interviewing me?”

“I don’t know,” Tony admitted, looking relieved that Peter had brought it up. “Our CEO put it on my agenda and I do not, as a rule, question her.”

The CEO of Stark Tech is a woman – Peter should probably have done a little more research before this interview. He nodded, trying to look encouraging.

“And since she told me to do this and I obviously am not qualified to be talking to you,” Tony went on, “I’m pretty sure that means I’m supposed to hire you. So you’re hired! Congratulations.”

“Oh,” Peter said, taken aback. “Do I want to be hired?”

“Uh, yes,” Tony said, floundering through his papers again. “Here, this explains our benefits package and there’s a contract in there too, I think.”

Peter looked through the packet of papers Tony handed him. “Wait,” he said, “benefits? For a part-time photographer?”

“Yup,” Tony smiled, proudly. “We try to take care of all our folks. What’s the point of being a multi-billion-dollar corporation if you can’t give people access to good healthcare?”

Peter ended up signing the contract and shaking Tony’s hand. The whole event felt very surreal, and Peter wondered if Ecstasy flashbacks were a thing.

“Maybe Pepper wanted me to meet you because of your science stuff,” Tony conjectured as he showed Peter back to the gigantic bank of elevators. “Let me know if you ever want to, like, tour the lab, jam a little.”

Peter was pretty sure he would never ever do that and would probably never see Tony Stark in person again, but he rode home with a general sense of well-being.

*~*~*

“Asshole,” Wade growled as he tossed pork chunks in Peter’s tiny skillet. “Rich as fuck and doesn’t do any actual work, so they have him put people through interview hoops.”

Peter felt delicious cynicism flood back into his chest. It was familiar and comforting after his suspiciously positive afternoon. “But the CEO of Stark Tech is a lady,” Peter said as he chopped cilantro, “and they give all their employees full benefits, and they do a lot of charity, like a lot –“

“Corporate charity is evil,” Wade said flatly, dousing the pork with soy sauce. “It’s like shooting someone in the face and then handing them a band-aid and expecting people to lick your ass for it.”

Peter laughed – he’d missed Wade’s vivid descriptions. He’d also missed Wade making dinner in his apartment. “So you think I shouldn’t take the job?” he asked.

“No no,” Wade said, turning to him. “You take that job and you quit the shitty ones you have and take care of your Aunt and save up for grad school.”

Oh. Wade remembered details about his life. Guh. “I don’t want to quit my tutoring gig or the lab,” Peter said, “but I don’t have to be a guinea pig for drug companies anymore, and I can quit the _Bugle_.”

“Can I please quit the _Bugle_ for you?” Wade asked, a manic gleam in his blue eyes. “I have an entire dance number that ends with a big fireworks banner telling J.J. Jameson to fuck himself.”

Peter giggled and tried to ignore how lovely it felt to talk to Wade about his day to day, about important decisions. That definitely counted as unhealthy skipping of steps.

 “Did you know this was considered her first adult role?” Wade said around a mouthful of pork stir-fry once they were on the futon and watching _For Me And My Gal._ “She was nineteen.”

“Nineteen’s not an adult?”

“No,” Wade responded, pointedly.

“I love that she keeps up with Gene Kelly,” Peter said, trying to steer them out of age territory.

It worked. “She does more than keep up – look at her!”

They watched in silence for a moment, mesmerized by Judy and Gene tap-dancing rapidly and perfectly as they sang “Ballin’ the Jack.”

“What does it mean to ‘ball the Jack’?” Wade asked, not taking his eyes off Judy as she darted about the stage. Peter had forgotten how adorable it was to see this giant, grumpy man watch his idol with child-like fascination.

“It’s the name of the dance, right?” Peter said, making himself watch the movie instead of Wade.

“It sounds like something a Fuck Boy would say to another Fuck Boy,” Wade said, putting on a Fuck Boy persona. “‘I really balled the Jack this weekend, bruh’ – ‘Bruh, I balled the Jack, too, bruh.’”

They both laughed. “I’d ball your Jack,” Peter said.

He hadn’t meant for it to come out so – naughtily. Okay, he had meant for it to, but now he was regretting it. Wade’s eyebrows had lifted up into his hairline, or where his hairline would be if he had hair. He reached over and paused the movie, then shut Peter’s laptop.

“Sorry,” Peter said, heart thudding in his ears as Wade turned to face him.

“You don’t ever have to do anything sexy with me again,” Wade told him in a calm, serious voice. “I don’t expect you to, and you don’t owe me.”

Peter’s brain had to buffer a little. “Wh—I know that. I—do you not—?”

He waited for Wade to help him out, but he just blinked his pretty blue eyes at Peter, waiting patiently.

“I enjoyed what we did after Pride,” Peter articulated, finally. “I’m so sorry if you didn’t or if I pushed you into it, or –“

Wade closed his eyes and sighed. “Peter, I gave you mind-altering substances and coerced you into letting me touch you. You don’t need to apologize for that.”

Peter’s brain needed a complete hard restart. “You—coerce? No, you did not coerce – why would you even think that? Didn’t we talk about this?”

“We talked about it in a bar,” Wade said. “I took you to a bar. I’ve done nothing but ply you with drugs and alcohol.”

“I had Sprite!” Peter reminded, trying to keep his voice from rising in exasperation. “You had a Sea Breeze for god’s sake, that’s not alcohol.”

Wade frowned. “It has rum in it--”

“Do you not want to be sexy with me?”

“No, I do!” Wade said quickly. “Badly.”

Peter’s face and neck suddenly felt sunburned. “Then what is the problem?”

Wade looked at him for a moment, as if he was weighing multiple options. Peter held his breath.

“Do you know how old I am?” Wade finally asked.

Gah! Peter involuntarily punched the cushion of his futon, which made Wade jump a little. In any other moment, it would have been hilarious for Peter to startle a six-plus-foot, ex-Special Forces guy, but in this moment, he was just frustrated out of his mind.

“I don’t care!” Peter explained. “Why does it matter? We’re both—“

“I’m over ten years older than you,” Wade said, leaning in. “When you were born, I was in middle school.”

“I don’t give a shit,” Peter said, deliberately separating each word. “I don’t understand why it matters so much to you. You think I’m naïve or something?”

“No,” Wade closed his eyes, flopping his head back against the futon. Self-loathing was not something Peter had seen from Wade before, and he didn’t like it much. How could someone so wonderful loath themselves?

“I have a thing,” Wade finally said, “about older people taking advantage of younger people.”

Peter managed to catch his impulse to argue back immediately and instead let that sit with him for a moment. He hoped Wade might elaborate, but Wade just sat in silence, looking at him with those blue eyes. He wanted to know more, but he also didn’t want to push, and he didn’t want to read too much into what Wade had shared with him.

So he opted for bold.

“Well, let me take advantage of you, then.”

Wade’s eyes went wide. He inhaled kind of sharply. Peter moved his hand onto the stretch of futon between them and leaned, slowly, into Wade’s space. He was pretty sure Wade tipped his head towards him. Their lips met.

Peter had been secretly disappointed that their first kiss had happened while they were high. He didn’t regret it – honestly, he probably wouldn’t have had the balls to seal the deal if not for the Ecstasy – but he worried that any subsequent kisses wouldn’t have the sensory overload. He was glad to discover that he’d been wrong – kissing Wade sober made his whole body feel like it was shaking and like his brain was going to melt. Wade was so warm and soft, and he smelled so good, and tasted like – Peter didn’t even know, but it was perfect.

They broke apart but their faces were still close enough that Peter could feel Wade’s breath on his cheek. He smiled, and Wade gave him a half-smile back. Peter thought he could hear both of their pulses pounding.

“What else can I do?” he asked, trying so hard for a sexy voice.

Wade shook his head slightly. “Whatever you want.”

Oh. Wow.

Peter mentally ordered his cock to calm the hell down. He slid his hands onto Wade’s big, muscular thighs, unable to resist kneading a little. He flashed back to their Ecstasy escapade when he’d squeezed Wade’s meaty pecs for an embarrassingly long time.

But like his pec-squeezing, Wade appeared to appreciate his thigh-kneading, judging by the low moan he let out. Encouraged, Peter moved his fingers up to the buckle of Wade’s jeans.

“Um—“

“Sorry,” Peter said, lifting his hands.

“No, please,” Wade murmured, and Peter liked the sound that word, please. “Can we just, um – turn that light out?”

Peter looked at the tiny bulb that was on in his kitchen, casting a minimal amount of light on them. He would be working in the dark if it was out, but one look at Wade’s face, all unsure and open like that, and he darted across the apartment and flipped the little switch.

Wade visibly relaxed, and it made Peter’s heart hurt. He suddenly felt very out of his depth. Here was this man, who was so brave and strong, who’d been horribly hurt physically (and now it sounded like he’d possibly been hurt psychically as well), trusting Peter with his body.

“I need you to say that you want this,” Peter said as he knelt down on the floor between Wade’s legs.

“What?” Wade asked, a bit breathlessly.

“I don’t want to do this if you’re not okay,” Peter explained, placing his hands on Wade’s knees to try to keep something of a sexy mood intact. “I need to hear it.”

Wade stared down at him. He swallowed. “Yes. Please. I want it.”

Hating himself, knowing he was about to blow it and Wade would walk out and never touch him again, Peter said, “I need you to say what you want. What do you want me to do to you, Wade?”

Instead of walking out, Wade kind of whimpered. But not sadly. The sound made Peter’s insides swoop.

“Please touch my cock,” Wade said, brokenly. “Touch it, suck it, whatever you want to do. Please.”

Fuck. Peter had not meant to for that to be hot, but he had to take a deep breath to steady himself as he reached again for the zipper of Wade’s jeans. He wasn’t going to expose him any more than necessary, but Wade lifted his hips, so Peter tugged the denim down, trying not to grope his ass too much (though he really, really wanted to). He could see the outline of Wade’s cock through his boxer-briefs – it was not small. Peter gulped. He hoped he remembered how to do this.

He watched Wade’s face as he palmed his cock through the soft material of his underwear. He had that dazed look of someone who was very turned on – Peter had almost forgotten what that looked like on another person. He clumsily searched for the little dick-freeing slit and accidentally made a sound when his fingers found Wade’s bare cock.

Wade stiffened. Peter looked up immediately – was he triggered? Was Peter traumatizing him? He didn’t look upset, more – nervous. Peter watched him as he gently freed his cock from his underwear, trying not to ogle it too much. He wished the light was on, because he wanted very much to see this sight properly, but he understood. He settled for wrapping his hand lightly around it, feeling the firmness, the heat.

“Tell me to stop if you don’t like something, or change your mind,” Peter said, trying to hide how hard he was breathing. He took hold of Wade’s right hand and placed it on his shoulder. “Just push me off of you, okay?”

Wade nodded, still looking at him with those dazed blue eyes. Peter quickly licked at his palm (god he hoped that wasn’t gross, why didn’t he keep lube next to the futon?), took hold of Wade’s cock again and then slowly lowered his mouth down onto it.

Wade’s fingers dug into his shoulder, and Peter heard him gasp. Good sign. He tried to lick at the head enticingly but he tasted salty pre-cum and suddenly felt dizzy – he was touching Wade. He had Wade’s cock in his mouth. Fucking finally.

Peter started to move, not wanting to draw this out. If he could finish him fast, maybe Wade wouldn’t notice his rusty cock-sucking skills. Wade’s hips moved beneath him, and Peter automatically gripped his thigh with his free hand, holding him in place. Wade whimpered again. Mmm, he liked that. What was wrong with him, that he liked hearing that?

Focus – Peter took Wade’s cock as far down as he could. He could feel that there was scarring even here, and he wondered again how Wade had survived whatever had happened to him. He indulged in tracing the rough tissue with his tongue for a second, then pulled his lips as taut around his teeth as he could and started moving faster, concentrating on the sensitive ridge around the head. Boys liked that, he recalled. He liked that.

Wade seemed to like it, too. His fingers flexed and pulled at Peter’s shoulder, not pushing him away.

“I’m close,” he said in a pained whisper. Peter increased his efforts.

“You don’t have to—“ Wade started, but he didn’t push away, and Peter kept his grip on Wade’s hip. He didn’t especially love the taste of cum, but they weren’t really prepared for anything else. Also, he really weirdly wanted to drink Wade down.

Wade arched up when he came, both of his hands now clutching Peter’s shoulders. Peter felt a rush of pride – he’d done it! – and tried to enjoy the feeling of Wade’s thick cock pulsing in his mouth while he swallowed all of the thick fluid. Either it didn’t taste as bad as he remembered or Wade just tasted unusually good.

 He pulled off with a pop, licking the head for good measure, and was standing up to get a washcloth when Wade caught his hand and pulled him down onto his lap. Peter was so surprised when Wade kissed him that he let out an embarrassing little squeak. Wade laughed, low in his chest, his tongue delving eagerly into Peter’s mouth. Peter kissed back, holding Wade’s face for balance but also because he wanted to touch him, however Wade would let him, as much as he could.

“Do you need something to clean up with?” Peter asked timidly once they’d broken apart and their foreheads were resting together.

“I think you got me nice and clean,” Wade purred. Peter’s cock stirred at that, and Wade must have been able to tell somehow because he put his big, strong hand over Peter’s crotch.

“Next time,” Peter said, summoning all of his will power to take Wade’s hand and bring it to his lips, kissing the scarred knuckles. “We’ll both get a turn next time. Yeah?”

Wade sighed. Peter couldn’t quite tell if it was happy or sad, and his heart clenched. “Yeah,” Wade said, to his great relief.

They sat in silence for a moment. Wade deftly tucked himself back in without moving Peter off of his lap, and Peter was glad – Wade’s muscular thighs felt amazing under his ass and he had to resist the urge to wriggle. This was enough for tonight.

“Goddamnit.”

Peter pulled his head up from where it was resting against Wade’s cheek. “What?”

“We didn’t talk about safety,” Wade groused, “at all. You have no idea if I’m clean.”

Jesus Christ. “Um, I assumed you wouldn’t have let me do that if you weren’t clean,” Peter snarked. “You didn’t ask me if I was clean when you sucked my cock.”

Wade let out a low moan and wrapped his arms more tightly around Peter. Peter curled into him, kissing his temple. He thought he felt a little bitty electric shock every time his skin met Wade’s, just like in the movies.

*~*~*

“And he said he’ll call when he gets back in town on Monday,” Peter told Wanda as they passed out water bottles to very grateful protesters. “So I’ll probably never hear from him again.”

Wanda laughed. “So are you boyfriends? Dating?”

“I don’t know,” Peter shrugged, handing two bottles to a little kid who immediately stuck them down their shirt. He thought Pride had been hot – this protest was fucking sweltering and they hadn’t even started marching yet.

“That’s okay,” Wanda reassured as they returned to the organizers’ tent. “You don’t have to label stuff these days. I’m kind of dating, like, four people at the moment.”

Peter was struck by how much the two of them did not talk about Wanda’s life. “Your ideas are intriguing to me,” he said, “and I wish to subscribe to your newsletter.”

The two of them ended up having dinner with May after the protest since she was also there, again volunteering her nursing skills. The three of them stayed up late talking and laughing. Peter had been so worried and stressed for so long that he felt like he hadn’t enjoyed these two wonderful people, and it was so nice to just listen to them for a change. He went home, peeled off his gross protest clothes, and slept well.

He knew he wouldn’t have an email from Wade the next morning. Wade had made it clear that he would be working all weekend. Peter checked anyway. He didn’t have one. That was fine. He could wait for Monday.

Instead, he checked the news to see that the nationwide protests had gathered huge crowds. Whether or not the government would actually stop illegally arresting people en mass was still up in the air, but at least people gave a shit. The cynical part of Peter’s brain said that most people would now stop giving a shit because they’d gone to a protest and they felt like they’d really done something. Fuck.

Peter sighed, scrolling through more headlines. His eyes landed on something about an ICE facility being vandalized. He thought Preston’s van-barricading action had been postponed – had they gone ahead with it?

He clicked on the article to read that the incident had happened in El Paso, Texas, which was where a lot of the immigrants were being held. The ICE vans hadn’t just been barricaded – they’d been blown up.

“Wow,” Peter laughed, admiringly. Now that was some serious direct action. The article didn’t say anything about arrests, so the Antifa warriors who’d done this had gotten away with it, for now.  He hoped they kept getting away with it. He wished he had the spine to drop everything and join them.

Instead, he did his laundry and cleaned his apartment and checked his phone every ten minutes to see if Wade had called, texted, or emailed him. There was a slight chance that he had a crush.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Judy and Gene, Ballin' the Jack: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=xWryDF_yyH0
> 
> Ch 8 will go up SOON and it will mostly be kinky smutty filth, hooray!
> 
> Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	8. Lose That Long Face

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Posting early since I'm a little behind!
> 
> ALL BLESSINGS AND GLORY on my sweet sweet beta, QQI25 (who just posted some new symbiotespideypool prompt fills that you should go read)

Peter woke up at the crack of dawn on Monday morning and checked his phone. Wade hadn’t texted or called. The practical part of Peter’s brain told him that Wade was probably not awake yet as it was the crack of dawn. So he got up and checked email (no emails from Wade, perfectly fine), got dressed, and went to work.

“Did you hear about the Sock Hop for Immigrant Advocacy?” Kamala asked while Peter was trying to figure out how she and Miles had gotten the exact opposite results from what they should have on their lab project.

“No,” Peter said, ears perking up as he carefully dripped liquid into a very old, fragile crucible, “but I would like to. A Sock Hop?”

“It’s like a dance, but not as weird,” Miles explained. “You’ll be a chaperone, right?”

“Uh—“ Peter looked at the two expectant faces, trying not to catch himself on fire as he attempted to light the small burner under the crucible. “Sure? Am I allowed, since I’m not a real teacher?”

“You’re a real teacher,” Kamala said, beaming.

“And we need LGBTQ teachers to pressure the board into letting us advertise it as LGBTQ-friendly,” Miles added as he took the lighter from Peter and successfully lit the burner.

“You’re LGBTQ,” Kamala said, looking straight into Peter’s eyes. “Right?”

Peter nearly knocked the chemical-filled crucible off of its perch over the flame. “I—yeah, yes. I use queer.”

Miles and Kamala high-fived each other. They spent the rest of their tutoring session telling Peter all about the drama between admin and faculty over queer representation at school events and not learning a thing about chemistry. Peter momentarily wondered if he should have shared something about his romantic and erotic life with his students, but no, he decided – in this case it wasn’t over-sharing, it was showing up.

As he rode the train to the lab, he wondered if he would still count as LGBTQ if he didn’t have any more gay sex for another several years. He had no texts and no calls from Wade, and his optimism was starting to get squishy and weak just like the sandwich he’d brought with him in his bag.

“That’s great, Peter,” Betty said later in the afternoon when he stopped by the _Bugle_ to officially quit. “I mean, I’ll miss seeing you, but I’m glad you don’t have to take that anymore.”

She gestured at the door to JJ’s office, through which Peter could hear him yelling at some poor asshole.

“You should find something else, too,” Peter said. “You’re better than this.”

Betty rolled her eyes. “Maybe if weddings weren’t so expensive I could go out on a limb, but for now I have to sit here and make money.”

Peter almost launched into a diatribe about how weddings were a product of the collusion among capitalism, religion, and heteronormativity, but – Betty wanted to have a wedding and Betty deserved nice things. He hated that she had to work for a temperamental man-baby to get them.

He also hated that it was getting dark and he hadn’t heard from Wade. It was silly of him, he knew. So Wade had told him he’d be in touch on Monday, so what? Wade was a busy guy and Peter wasn’t his life, just a friend with whom he occasionally watched Judy Garland movies and swapped blowjobs.

Peter sighed as he gave Puppy!Wade scritches on his torn up ears. “You’re the only Wade who always likes me,” he confided. Puppy just continued gobbling up the remains of his squishy sandwich, licked him right up the face, then bounded back down his alley.

As he dug for his keys to open his door, Peter decided to mentally cut Wade off. This was too much, and the guy obviously wasn’t comfortable with recent happenings in their relationship. Peter needed to get a grip and focus on the rest of his life.

But then he opened his apartment door to find Wade sitting on his futon.

Peter automatically screamed at seeing a figure in his home. Wade jumped up. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to scare you,” he started apologizing immediately, “but my phone –“

As soon as he registered who it was, Peter’s body kind of disconnected from his brain. He watched as if from outside of himself as he took a running leap at Wade, who thankfully caught him. Peter wrapped his legs around Wade’s waist and his arms around Wade’s neck and kissed him. Wade made a surprised “umph” noise, but he quickly wrapped one arm around Peter’s back and one around his hips to hold him in place and kissed back.

“Hi,” Peter said when he came up for air.

“Hi,” Wade said, half-smiling at him. “Your place is really easy to break into. We need to fix that.”

“Okay,” Peter shrugged, sliding back to the floor as gracefully as possible (which was not very). “How was your trip?”

“Fine. How was the Protest for Heteronormative Immigrants?”

“It was a little heteronormative,” Peter laughed. “Lots of talk about families and ‘what if it was your child.’”

“Gotta get the white folks to care somehow,” Wade grinned. It was so cute that Peter stepped in to start furiously making out with him again, but Wade held up a hand. “I have a thing.”

Peter watched, curious, as Wade reached into his back pocket and pulled out two actual, physical tickets. To a drag show, Peter saw.

“It’s a Judy show,” Wade explained. “We don’t have to go if that doesn’t sound fun or you’re busy or something, but I just thought I should take you on an actual date maybe.”

Peter was horrified to feel his throat constrict a little. Breaking into his apartment with tickets for a classy date – Wade clearly knew what he was doing with this whole romance thing.

“That sounds great,” Peter said, feeling like a nerd. He stepped closer again and gave Wade a proper kiss, and it expressed his appreciation somewhat more accurately.

“Have you had dinner?” Wade asked, arms around his waist, lips close to his.

“I snacked,” Peter said, daring to let his hand cup Wade’s ass and holy shit was it nice.

“Snacking isn’t dinner.”

“Wade,” Peter half-whined, half-moaned, pressing his thigh between Wade’s legs. Wade hesitated a moment, then pressed back. Peter hadn’t been able to stop thinking about Wade’s cock all weekend, and now it was hard and rubbing against his leg.

“I want to see you,” Peter word-vomited. “Please?”

Wade’s eyes went from hungry to anxious. Shit. “We don’t have to,” Peter said, quickly. “It’s okay, I understand, whatever you—“

“No, it’s okay,” Wade said, clearing his throat. “I just, um – you don’t happen to have any whisky around, do you?”

As a matter of fact, Peter did. He watched in awe as Wade downed two shots of very cheap bourbon like it was apple juice.

“All right,” Wade said, setting down the bottle. “I am now fortified against you screaming and running from me in horror the second I lift up my shirt.”

Before Peter could scold him for being so negative, Wade scooped him up bridal-style and deposited him on the futon. They both fumbled to move the lever that lowered the back for bed-mode.

Wade lay down on his back, pulling Peter on top of him. Peter struggled to get his knees on either side of Wade’s broad chest without breaking contact with Wade’s mouth. Once he was settled, Wade abruptly stopped taking the lead – he lay back, resting his arms on either side of his head, totally open to Peter.

“Go for it,” he said, huskily.

Peter panicked a bit as he lifted up Wade’s shirt and quickly pulled it over his head and off. He didn’t want to stare and make Wade self-conscious, because whisky or no, Peter could tell this was hard for him. If he had just been covered in scars, that would have been one thing – Peter could avoid looking at them now, act like they were no big deal, and cry in the shower later over how upsetting they were. But Wade was not only covered in scars – he was also cut like fucking granite.

“Jesus,” Peter accidentally whispered, eyes roving over Wade’s muscular, scar-littered abdomen.

Wade let out a bitter laugh, looking at the ceiling instead of Peter. “You can still opt out, say you need to condition your hair.”

Fuck. Peter needed to save this, fast. He wanted to lick every inch of Wade’s torso, but he lay his hand in the center of Wade’s chest instead.

“Where can I touch you?” he asked.

Wade’s eyes widened, then he covered his face with his hands. “Pete, if you do that to me again I’m seriously going to blow my load before we even get our pants off – just, wherever you want, everywhere.”

Peter wasn’t sure what he meant by that, but he took Wade at his word and started running both hands all over his chest and stomach, his shoulders and arms. He thought there was a chance he could come just from the feeling of Wade’s skin and muscles under his fingertips – was he fetishizing Wade’s trauma? Every bit of him was just so meaty and hard, and the texture of the scars – it was the most erotically fascinating thing Peter had ever imagined.

Wade was watching him closely, pretty blue eyes guarded. Peter needed to even out their relative vulnerability, so he pulled his own shirt off and threw it aside. He was suddenly very aware of his scrawny frame. He hadn’t been to the gym in – well, ever.

Wade’s hands were on him, on his chest, thumbs circling his nipples. Peter leaned his head back and moaned – that felt so fucking good. He heard Wade’s low, rumbly laugh. He gathered himself and started giving Wade’s nipples the same treatment, rubbing his thumbs in slow circles until they were hard little nubs.

“Ten points for finding those,” Wade snarked.

Peter sighed – Wade’s chest was so scarred that, yes, his nipples weren’t as obvious as they might have been, but still. He tried to distract Wade from his need to self-deprecate by grinding his own hips against his crotch.

Wade moaned, thrusting his hips up, and the feeling of Wade’s solid cock rubbing against Peter’s ass through his jeans was pure torture. Throwing caution to the wind, he stood up on the futon, stripped off his pants as quickly as he could, then hopped back down to do the same to Wade.

“You’re definitely not supposed to jump on these,” Wade observed, startled.

“You need to be quiet now,” Peter said, helping Wade out by kissing him.

Peter had left them both in their underwear. Still kissing Wade, he reached down and freed his own dick from his briefs, then fumbled to free Wade’s from his boxer-briefs. He hoped Wade didn’t think it was weird that he wore briefs, he just found them comfy. Focus! He scooted so that their cocks were pressed against each other and tried to get his hand around both of them.

“Can I ask a question?”

Peter blinked, Wade’s face very close to his. “Yes?”

“Do you have lube close by?”

Ha! Yes! After his surprise blowjob, Peter had stashed a pump-bottle of lotion under his futon. So, not lube, but it would do.

“Classy,” Wade giggled as Peter splooped a large dollop of lotion into his hand.

“Hush,” Peter giggled back, climbing onto him. He still couldn’t hold both of their cocks, but Wade helped, his other hand on Peter’s waist, supporting him. Peter clutched at Wade’s big strong shoulder muscle with his free hand, holding himself up.

It was not the most comfortable position, but after a bit of strategic stroking and one look into Wade’s fucking gorgeous eyes, Peter started to come and couldn’t hold it back. Wade kissed his neck through it, then gave himself a few more strokes and followed him. Peter completely ignored the mess of goop to lay down against Wade’s side, wrapping his arm around his waist.

“Can I talk?”

“Yes.”

“We made a mess of your futon,” Wade said, kissing his hair.

“ ‘s just a futon,” Peter said, nuzzling his nose into Wade’s warm neck.

But his cavalier attitude only lasted until Peter could feel jizz drying on his stomach. He grabbed his only towel from the bathroom and cleaned them both up, clumsy from rushing. He wanted to get back nestled against Wade’s side as quickly as possible. Wade laughed and took the towel from him, laying it over the worst of the mess before settling himself back on top of it, pulling Peter next to him.

“It’s okay to ask, if you want.”

Peter’s fingers stilled – he had been absently tracing Wade’s scars. He thought about trying to deny it, but he didn’t want to disrespect Wade by bullshitting him. “What happened?” he asked, quietly.

Wade told him a short, awful story. He had been in the Special Forces, Peter knew that. He’d been in Iraq, which Peter had not known. His commanding officer made some dumbass decisions that got innocent people trapped in a burning structure. Wade had ignored orders to get them out and gotten severe burns all over his body for his trouble.

“They didn’t think I’d survive,” Wade said, smugly. “Shows what they know.”

Peter paid attention to the rise and fall of Wade’s ribs beneath his hand. He hadn’t taken a very close look, and Wade had a blanket pulled over them now, but he’d seen enough to know that Wade was probably one in a million. Most people would have died just from the shock.

They had sex three more times that week. That was three times more sex than Peter had had in – Jesus Christ, it was actually into years at this point. Wade met him inside his own apartment again the next night, this time with a complicated locking mechanism that Peter refused to install on his door (until Wade pouted and then he gave right in). The next night, Wade had to help him break into his own place because now it was a bit too secure. Two nights later, they hung out at Wade’s place.

“Want to see if you can find my asshole for the scars?” Wade waggled his eyebrows, flopping down onto the couch. “I hear it’s like a Where’s Waldo puzzle.”

Peter laughed, kissing him. Doreen and Gabby were on an overnight date and had encouraged Wade to take advantage of the apartment. Peter had to admit, he was glad to give his poor futon a break.

But as they made their way to Wade’s bedroom, leaving articles of clothing in their wake, he suddenly felt dread. Was Wade serious? He figured they’d get to penetrative sex at some point, but now? And with Peter – pitching?

“How do you want me?” Wade asked in his ear.

There was no bluffing his way through this one. “I have never done this before,” Peter admitted.

To his surprise, Wade grinned, eyes gleaming eagerly. “Face-down-ass-up it is,” he said, hopping onto the bed and grabbing a conveniently-placed tube of lube.

“Wade,” Peter said uncertainly, his brain fogging with arousal at the sight of Wade shoving two slick fingers into his own asshole.

“Have you ever had sex with someone’s vagina before?” Wade asked, a hint of a groan in his voice as he worked himself open.

Peter nodded. He couldn’t make his voice work.

“It’s very similar,” Wade assured, removing his fingers from himself. “Find the hole, press slowly but steadily.”

Since the first time they’d gotten mostly-naked together, Wade’s hesitance had turned into downright exhibitionism. Sometimes Peter thought Wade was trying to test him, to see how far he could push before Peter was finally grossed out and ran away. That made Peter want to bend him over something and beat his ass, which was a not an impulse Peter had ever felt toward another human before.

At the moment, the sight of Wade, naked, on his hands and knees, slick and ready – it was making Peter’s brain short out. Wade had kind of frozen. “Too much?” he asked.

Peter responded by shucking off his underwear, and Wade seemed somewhat bolstered by the sight of how very very excited his cock was about Wade’s little performance. He knelt on the bed, trying not to unsettle the mattress too much, and took hold of Wade’s hips.

“Just please don’t let me hurt you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” Wade reassured. “Feel free to take a look around, get your bearings.”

Wade was less scarred on his back than his front, but the skin was still marred and textured. Peter was secretly thrilled by that and hated himself anew for fetishizing something that had caused Wade a lot of pain and grief, but he couldn’t help it – Wade was gorgeous. No one looked like Wade, no one else’s body looked anything like this, Peter was sure. It was fascinating and deeply hot, and Peter just had to run his hands over the skin of Wade’s back, thighs, and ass. Wade squirmed under his attention, leaning forward and laying his head on the mattress so that his spine arched gracefully, ass presented to Peter’s view.

The guys Peter had been with before had not wanted him to have much to do with their asses. A few of them happily fucked Peter, and he liked it (mostly), but in general they’d stuck to dry-humping and oral. Peter had always felt like he was once again being left out, this time from the secret joys of butt stuff, and he’d wondered if it was because he wasn’t a “real” gay. He pressed the pad of his thumb against Wade’s puckered hole, and the muscles there moved and gave into him, and he felt more gay than he ever had in his life.

Wade whimpered and rocked back against Peter’s touch. Peter wanted suddenly to lean down and lick Wade there, open him up with his tongue, but – maybe next time. Instead, he lined his cock up as best he could, and after a couple of cripplingly awkward tries and Wade finally having to reach back and guide him a little, he was pushing slowly into Wade’s asshole.

Wade let out a luxurious moan, one hand on Peter’s hip. The sensation almost overwhelmed Peter’s nervousness about hurting him – he had seen Wade shove his own fingers into himself, knew he was open and ready, but he still felt so astoundingly tight. Nothing compared. When he felt his own hips press flush against Wade’s ass, Peter let himself breathe a moment, enjoying.

He wasn’t allowed to sit there for long, though, because Wade started rocking back on him, insistently. Peter had the impulse to slap his thigh and tell him to be patient (again – not an impulse he’d ever had before), but instead he pulled out part way and then pushed back in. Wade moaned, loudly.

“Jesus fuck, honey, you feel so good—“

Wade was mouthy all the time, and Peter hadn’t been surprised when sex was no different. He actually loved it – fun as it was to make Wade be quiet, the filthy babble that came out of his mouth made Peter blush and smile. He tried to move more, tried to increase his speed without feeling out of control. Wade responded with a series of _yes yes yes please fuck_ that sent a thrill up Peter’s spine.

Wade buried his face in the mattress, groaning into it as Peter fucked him. Peter was having fun but found that he did not like that at all. He paused, sliding a hand up from Wade’s hip to his shoulder.

“Can you turn over?”

Wade turned his head to the side and looked back at him, eyes glassy. “I want to see you,” Peter explained, instantly embarrassed.

Wade didn’t giggle or tease him for being cliché. In fact, Peter couldn’t read his expression. He was quiet and his face actually reddened as Peter helped him flip onto his back. Getting Peter re-situated was awkward, and Wade had to once again help guide him into place. Once he was in again Peter immediately felt it was worth it – he had Wade’s knees hooked over his shoulders and could dig his fingers into Wade’s meaty thighs, and when he rocked into him he could see Wade’s whole body move with him. And he could see Wade’s face, blue eyes fluttering and closing tight, mouth open as he moaned and grunted with each thrust.

“Motherfuck, yes, _fuck_ –“

Wade’s big hands clutched his shoulders, and Peter grinned. This was perfect – he’d liked the other way, but this made him feel more confident, more connected. He found he could increase his pace, fuck Wade harder, and he was rewarded with all kinds of needy sounds and babbling.

“Fuck _yes,_ fuck me, Daddy—“

Peter’s hips stuttered and stilled. Wade’s eyes flew open. He released his grip on Peter’s shoulders and covered his face with his hands.

“Oh, shit,” he muttered. “Sorry. I’ll just – show myself out.”

Peter was about to remind Wade that this was his apartment, but he thought better of that and instead started slowly thrusting into him again. Wade took his hands from his face and watched Peter a moment, then tentatively returned his hands to his shoulders. It didn’t take long to get back to the intensity they’d been at moments ago, and when Peter felt the heat build in his own core, he wrapped a hand around Wade’s cock and tried his best to stroke him in time with this thrusts. He let out a triumphant huff of laughter when he got Wade off first, and the extra clench around his cock set him off not long after.

“We should have used a condom,” Wade murmured into his ear after Peter had collapsed on top of him. Peter rolled his eyes – they had gone together to get tested earlier that week, at Wade’s insistence. Instead of reminding him of that out loud, Peter tweaked his nipple. Wade squeaked. Peter giggled into his chest.

“So,” Wade said later as they were sitting down on the couch with their linguini, “I’m sure you have questions.”

Peter had been ready for this. “I didn’t mind,” he said. “Kinda wish you’d said it again.”

Wade’s hands stilled in the middle of twirling his pasta around his fork. Peter felt his face and neck go hot and really wished that would stop happening.

“I don’t have, like, daddy-issues or anything,” Wade said. Peter glanced up to see that his face and neck were also distinctly pink, and that triggered the weird protective impulse he had towards this man who was a head taller and like fifty pounds heavier than him.

“Well, I probably do have daddy-issues,” Wade corrected with a sigh. “But that’s not why—“

“You don’t need to explain,” Peter gently cut him off. “It wasn’t weird, it was – fun.”

Wade didn’t look up but smiled lopsidedly at his pasta. Peter scooted a little closer so that their shoulders were touching. It made it a little harder to eat, but it felt oh so nice.

They watched the first thirty-ish minutes of _A Star Is Born_ before Peter passed out. He woke up to Wade laying him down in his bed, and he was so sleepy that he nearly missed enjoying Wade picking him up and carrying him. Wade tried to go sleep on the couch, but Peter caught his arm and pulled him down next to him, curling into his side. And that was how they spent the night together for the first time.

Peter had to work early the next morning. He showered while Wade made breakfast (he was covered in sweat – sleeping with Wade was evidently like sleeping with a space heater). They made plans to see each other the next day, and then, much as he hated it, Peter had to hurry home to change.

“Hey—“

Peter turned around at the end of Wade’s hallway and looked back to see Wade standing in his door, blue eyes sparking with mischief.

“Just wanted another look at you.”

Peter turned bright red. How dare Wade quote the most romantic line from _A Star Is Born_ at him? Unlike Judy, who just smiled shyly when James Mason said the same thing to her, Peter covered his head with his arms and flipped Wade off, both of them laughing too loudly for the early hour.

*~*~*

It had been the right move at the time to play off Wade saying the “D-word” as no big deal. However, the reality was that Peter had absolutely zero experience with that. He had no experience with role-playing or sexy name-calling. If he was honest, he had no experience with anything kinky whatsoever.

But Wade clearly did. He’d mentioned the dungeon in the back of Sister Margaret’s. He’d mentioned that he had a Dom with whom he did power-exchange, sometimes in a sexy way.

All of these factors led Peter to a deep-dive on the internet as soon as he got home from his jobs that night. After thoroughly overwhelming himself with youtube videos and pictures of people in harnesses and one really exciting image of someone’s balls sewn together over their penis, Peter decided that he should just talk to Wade about specifically what he was into.

But Wade was not super helpful with that.

“I love what we’ve been doing,” Wade insisted as he sliced up chicken and peppers for tacos.

“We don’t need to push it or do anything else for now.”

Goddamnit. Peter unleashed his frustration on the avocado he was mashing for a moment, and then had a whim.

“I want to meet Shiklah.”

Wade fumbled the chopping knife. “Why?”

“You said you do sexy stuff with her sometimes,” Peter shrugged. “Shouldn’t I meet her? So there’s not anything weird between us?”

Wade blinked at him. Then he looked sort of hurt which was, shit, not what Peter had wanted.

“I haven’t done anything with her since we started -- hanging out,” Wade said in a very rare voice that Peter had been lucky enough to hear a few times now. “I would have told you, or asked you--”

“I know,” Peter reassured, setting aside his avocado to reach for Wade’s hand. “I just -- but you might want to, right? Do stuff with her? I just think it’ll be less weird overall if we, like, know each other a little.”

Wade did not seem convinced, but he agreed to arrange it. He was quiet through dinner, but Peter got him well and truly distracted afterwards. Poor futon.

The three of them met for drinks at Sister Margaret’s the next night. Wade clearly wanted to get this over with, and Peter had to admit – it was awkward.

Well, Shiklah wasn’t awkward. Shiklah was beautiful and kind of scary in a fun way. She seemed to be sizing the two of them up as they tried desperately to make small talk, just stirring her tiny straw around in her whisky ginger, amused smile on her face. Peter sort of wanted to push her off the bench but also to braid her pretty dark hair.

“Wade, go get us two rounds of the most complicated shots that Weasel knows how to make.”

Wade gulped down the sip of beer he’d just taken. “Why?”

Shiklah raised an eyebrow at him. Wade made a grumbling sound but stood up and went obediently to the bar.

“Take your time,” Shiklah called after him, smiling at Peter. Peter thought he should probably be offended at her ordering his kind-of-boyfriend around but actually found himself somewhat awe-struck.

“What can I do for you?” she asked, folding her hands on the table and looking him in the eye.

Peter gaped, caught off guard by her openness. “He won’t talk to me about what he wants,” he found himself saying. “And I don’t know enough about it to figure it out on my own.”

“About kink?” Shiklah clarified. Peter nodded. “So you want me to, what, tell you what he likes?”

Peter took a deep breath. He felt like she was peering into his soul, and he decided to not even try to bullshit her. “I want to do for him whatever it is you’re doing for him,” he said. “Not to, like, be creepy and controlling or something, but –“

He sighed, struggling to find the words. Shiklah waited, a picture of patience.

“I want him to not need you,” Peter said, semi-bracing himself for her response.

Shiklah didn’t bat an eye, just continued looking at him, appraisingly. Then she stood up from the table. “Would you come to the back with me?”

Peter stood up, looking towards the bar to see Wade, watching them, drumming his fingers on the bar top. Weasel, looking very disgruntled, was holding his phone and trying to read something on it while also pouring two different types of alcohol into shot glasses.

“We’ve got a minute,” Shiklah said, waving amiably at Wade before turning and moving towards the back. Peter glanced back at Wade and gave him a thumbs-up before following her. He could hear Wade swear, and it made him giggle.

Just as Peter had suspected, “the back” meant “the dungeon.” Peter had never been in one before, and it was not at all what he’d expected. No chains hanging from the ceilings, no stone walls – in fact, the room was painted a calming mint green, making it much brighter than the main bar. Along the walls were big pieces of wooden furniture, most of them padded. Peter could kind of guess what each of them was for, but only kind of. He saw what looked like a big wooden X. He saw a cage. Shiklah watched him take it all in.

“I’m not going to show you any of this,” she said, gesturing at the plethora of instruments hanging on the wall that Peter was beginning to ogle. “I just came in here to freak Wade out.”

“Oh,” Peter said, relieved, but then he felt himself bristle. “I mean, I could learn to—“

“You could,” Shiklah held her hands up, placating. “But you should take classes for that. I teach here at the club sometimes.”

Peter tried to imagine himself in a class-setting learning how to use the giant paddle that hung on the wall in front of him. Hmm.

“Listen, there’s no conflict of interest here,” she said, sitting down on one of the padded tables. “Wade and I aren’t in a relationship. I’m a pro-Domme. I’ll miss his money, and I’ll miss topping him because Wade’s kinda great, but – he needs something else. He needs somebody who loves him.”

The L-word was like an arrow through Peter’s chest. He hadn’t admitted that part, even to himself. Shiklah smiled as if she knew that already. Clearly, being a “Dom” wasn’t as much about whips and chains as it was about reading what was going on with people. That probably meant Peter would never be much of a Dom as he was terrible with people, but oh well.

Shiklah proceeded to give him a whole bunch of great advice. It was a lot, and it left Peter feeling jittery, but it wasn’t overwhelming. It was, in fact, exciting. He kind of couldn’t wait to get Wade home.

They emerged from the dungeon to find Wade sitting at their table, arms crossed huffily, a tray of colorful shots in front of him. “Your drinks,” he gestured, glaring at Shiklah.

Shiklah just smiled smugly and picked up one of the shots. “To new things.”

Peter could drink to that.

*~*~*

“What did she say to you?”

Peter laughed as they walked alongside each other. It was sort of great to see Wade so off-kilter. “She just told me some stuff you might like.”

“Like what?”

Peter reached out and took Wade’s hand, linking their fingers together. That felt good, and Wade must have agreed because he visibly relaxed. “Nothing big,” Peter reassured. “And I won’t do anything without telling you or that you don’t want.”

Wade’s pretty eyes softened, and he grew quiet for a while, not anxious but calm. It was exactly how Shiklah had told him Wade would react to out-loud reassurance. Peter tried not to be too obviously excited.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...this chapter was mostly sex, but it wasn't the sex I meant to write, so now I have to insert a chapter that's just entirely kinky sex. I promise we will get back to plot at some point siiiiiiiiigh
> 
> Here's Judy singing about losing that long face in "A Star Is Born": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=uVITeTE5hz0
> 
> Also here's the "just wanted another look" moment from "A Star Is Born" -- go to 2:45: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=81lDKmzYLcI
> 
> Ideas? Questions? Concerns? Interjections? Tumble me! crockzilla.tumblr.com


	9. Hey, Daddy (You Ought To Get The Best For Me)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do any of you know how happy I was to discover that Judy Garland recorded a song called "Hey, Daddy"? Real. Real glad, ya'll.
> 
> Tags have been update for this chapter, so take a peek please.
> 
> I am so sorry this chapter is once again super long, I promise the next one will be shorter! This one is like two-thirds sex and then like a little plot, but there will be more plot soon!
> 
> BLESS Spitshine for the brilliant, brilliant idea for Peter and Wade's date, and for bringing Sasha Velour into my life.
> 
> BLESS my sweet, patient, wonderful Beta, QQI25 *all the kisses*

Wade and Doreen and Gabby’s place was closer to Sister Margaret’s, but the ladies were home, and while they were very understanding (Wade had tolerated plenty of their early-relationship super-sex, they had said), Peter had an early shift at the lab the next day. When they rounded the corner to Peter’s building, Puppy!Wade was waiting for them. He seemed to look at their linked hands with interest.

“Aw, look at you,” Wade greeted in a voice Peter hadn’t heard him use before. He went straight for scratching the roughed-up creature’s scarred ears, just like Peter always did, getting a happy whine in return.

“What’s his name?”

“Uh,” Peter caught himself, “Puppy.”

Wade laughed. Peter set down the falafel he had saved from his lunch and ushered them into the building before he could accidently refer to Puppy!Wade as Puppy!Wade.

Human!Wade still tensed up about seventy-five percent of the time that they started undressing. Peter had gotten into the habit of trying to help by keeping him distracted, kissing him and touching him as he revealed more and more of his skin, urging Wade to do the same to him.

Tonight he felt more confident that it worked as he pressed their bare chests together, Wade’s big arms around his back, their semi-hard cocks brushing together through their underwear.

“Can we try something?” Peter asked. Wade’s eyes were a bit guarded, but he nodded. Peter took him by the hips and guided him over to the open futon.

“Lean over for me?”

Wade gave him the look that meant he was both apprehensive and really really turned on. Peter rubbed his lower back in a way he hoped was reassuring, and it must have worked because Wade obediently bent forward, his palms on the futon.

“Is that uncomfortable?” Peter asked, concerned – the futon was so low to the ground that Wade’s tall form was at a sharp angle (though his ass looked super nice, Peter thought).

“Depends,” Wade said, wryly. “How long am I gonna be like this?”

Peter knelt down and kissed his shoulder. “Only as long as it’s fun. What about on your knees?”

Wade got down so that he was kneeling, elbows resting on the mattress. He looked at Peter again, almost like he was checking in to see if he’d done well. Peter felt a little thrill in his middle and gave Wade an approving nod, running his hand over his back, ghosting over his ass.

“That’s nice,” he murmured. “Do you want something to kneel on, just in case we’re, uh – here for a while?”

Wade barked out a laugh. “I am pushing forty.”

Peter folded his bath towel and scooted it under Wade’s knees. He tried to keep one hand on him throughout the process, just like Shiklah had suggested. Wade was quiet, but Peter could hear his breath come faster as he knelt down behind him, between his legs.

“Is this okay?” Peter asked, hands on his hips. Wade nodded. Peter reached around and felt that oh yes, Wade’s cock was straining at the material of his underwear.

“Can I take these off?” Wade nodded again. Peter let him get away with non-verbal responses for now. He slid Wade’s boxer-briefs over and down his hips, enjoying the view, pushing them just down to the middle of his thighs.

“Can I please fuck you like this?”

Wade huffed out a breath. His head bowed down to the mattress, but he nodded.

“Can you say yes for me?”

“Yes,” Wade said, immediately, voice wrecked in a way that went straight to Peter’s dick. “Please.”

Damn. Peter leaned over and kissed Wade’s textured back, letting his cock brush against his ass. Wade swore under his breath. He gently nudged at the inside of Wade’s right knee with his own, and Wade spread his legs as far apart as the material of his underwear would allow. Peter noted how the stretched cotton made it look like Wade was restrained, and he hoped that Wade would like that as much as Shiklah had suggested he would.

Much as Peter particularly enjoyed pressing his slicked-up fingers into Wade’s hole (it was just so – intimate, so – taboo or something), he tried to prep him quickly while still doing a good job. Wade was patient, but the second he felt Peter’s bare cock-head at his entrance, he whined and rocked back. Peter gave in to the urge he’d had on multiple other occasions and lightly slapped his hip.

Shit. He should’ve asked. Goddamnit.

“Was that okay?” he asked, pressing his hand over the spot he’d hit.

Wade nodded, then groaned with frustration. He was learning. “Yeah, yes – any, any time you want to do anything like that is okay, it’s great.”

Peter briefly imagined slapping Wade right on the ass, surprising him. Oh wow. He had to take a breath to steady himself, then pressed slowly in, the feeling of Wade’s muscles giving way to him still making him dizzy. It felt so fucking good – he couldn’t believe Wade wanted him to do something that felt this good. Maybe sex was always supposed to feel like this and Peter had just missed the memo.

Wade was pressing back, fucking himself on Peter’s cock. Peter tried to kind of hold his hips, but he was not anywhere near a match for Wade’s strength.

“Can you hold still for me?”

Wade’s whole body shuddered and froze. Peter couldn’t see his face, but he watched as Wade’s gorgeous muscles shifted, moving into place very deliberately. He didn’t nod, or say yes, but Peter didn’t need for him to. He started pressing in again, and Wade moaned and swore but held perfectly still as Peter started moving in and out of him.

Wade’s deliciously filthy babble began, growing louder as Peter increased his pace. He leaned against Wade’s back, wrapping a hand around him to pump his cock, and Wade responded enthusiastically. Peter felt a slight twinge of guilt given what he was about to do.

They’d done this enough that he could kind of tell when Wade was close, and as he felt his muscles tighten in that tell-tale way, Peter released his cock. Wade gasped and let out a kind of bewildered noise. Peter felt burning in his stomach, like he’d done something wrong, but he held Wade’s hips and pressed into him to the hilt, staying there.

“Not yet,” he said. “Okay?”

Wade looked back at him over his shoulder, blue eyes wide. Peter bit his lip. Wade dropped his head down onto the mattress and moaned into it. Peter could not quite interpret that, but he decided he was already asking enough of the poor guy and started slowly fucking into him again.

The next time Peter wrapped his hand around Wade’s cock, got him to the brink, and then stopped, Wade outright whimpered. It wasn’t like he hadn’t done that before, but for some reason it affected Peter very strongly this time. He realized he was digging his fingers into Wade’s hips and tried to loosen his grip, but it was difficult to do that and keep himself from fucking hard and fast – he was close himself, but he would not come until after Wade did. That would ruin the whole thing.

The third time he brought Wade close and then stopped, he could see Wade’s massive shoulders shaking. He ran his hand up Wade’s back. Was this too much? Surely Wade would tell him when it wasn’t fun anymore. He listened to how Wade was breathing, quick and short huffs of air, saw his ribs contracting rapidly, and realized how hard he was fighting. Hm.

“Are you okay?”

Wade nodded, short and terse, like he was afraid to move too much. Peter felt a little wave of panic – what was he supposed to do? He knew he shouldn’t have tried this shit until he’d read a couple of books about it.

“Do you want to come?” he asked, knowing he was killing the mood but not wanting to hurt Wade anymore.

And then Wade – well, Wade sobbed. There was no other word for it. “ _Yes,_ yes, _please.”_

Oh. That was – nice. Peter felt something dark curl in his middle. He pulled out slightly, pressing into Wade’s tightness again.

“You do?” he asked. He didn’t know what the fuck had come over him, but it was fun.

Wade seemed to agree. “Yes, please, _please_ , Daddy, fuck me, please let me come—“

Whatever control Peter still had over himself just up and disappeared. He fucked Wade hard and fast, his thighs burning with the effort. He reached around and knew neither of them would last long now, and it made him want to cry. At least he got to hear Wade call him _that_ a few more times before doubling over with release.

After Peter had helped Wade lay on the futon and used the conveniently-placed bath towel to clean them both up, Wade was – kind of shy. Cute, even. Peter kissed him a lot, all over his face, his neck, his hands. He felt weirdly giddy.

“That was good?” Peter asked after they’d silently cuddled for a while. “Not too, like—“

“ ‘s good,” Wade slurred, petting Peter’s hair. “Shiklah tell you to do all that?”

“Not really,” Peter said. He thought maybe he should give more explanation, but Wade seemed satisfied. Peter eventually retrieved his underwear and put it back on – he had a thing about sleeping totally naked. Wade did not, apparently, or maybe tonight was just special, but either way, Peter enjoyed falling asleep with so much of Wade’s bare skin pressed against him.

*~*~*

Peter should have known, just from the part of town and the goddamn huge line outside of the theatre, that Wade was not taking him to any run-of-the-mill drag show.

“Sasha Velour?”

“Looks like it,” Wade said as they beheld the marquee (and skipped past the huge line since Wade had evidently gotten them VIP tickets).

“As in Sasha Velour who won Season 9 of RuPauls’ Drag Show?” Peter asked completely unnecessarily as Wade led him past gorgeous promo photos of Sasha that lined the theatre lobby.

“I guess?” Wade shrugged, looking a bit sheepish. “Literally Doreen and Gabby told me I needed to take you to this and I just do what they say.”

Peter was a little too shy of a human to give Wade the big sloppy kiss he wanted to give him in the crowded lobby, so he settled for squeezing his hand. Wade looked very pleased as he handed their tickets over to an usher. These tickets had to have cost a small fortune, and Wade had forked over the money without knowing why it was so expensive, just because his roommates had said it would make Peter happy? Wow.

Hm. Wealth management.

Peter did not ask Wade about his work while they waited for the show to start. Instead, he spent the time explaining the significance of Sasha Velour, her amazing work as a queer artist and activist, her bravery to openly identify as gender-fluid, and all the various ways in which she generally slayed.

“Gender-fluid,” Wade said, admiring the picture on the front of their program. “I like that.”

Peter had just about worked out how to get Wade to talk more about his feelings on gender-fluidity when the lights dimmed.

The show. Was. Astounding. Turned out it wasn’t just Sasha but several other amazing drag artists. Peter had been to shows at clubs before, and had even helped organize one in college, but he’d never seen anything like this. These folks were doing things that made his brain bend in exciting ways.

Wade seemed, for once, to be as floored as Peter felt. He kept exclaiming out loud when the gorgeous performers did something particularly surprising or fierce, and Peter realized he was probably one of those people who talked out loud to the characters when he watched a movie for the first time, but in this audience, everyone was doing likewise. Even Peter got into the spirit, supportively cat-calling and cheering.

Until Sasha came on and a very, very familiar song started to play. Peter had almost forgotten that Wade had thought this show would have something to do with Judy, and so far it had not. But now, Sasha Velour was standing on stage ten yards in front of them, performing Judy’s “The Man That Got Away.” Wade grabbed Peter’s knee just as Peter reached over to clutch at his arm, both of their gazes glued to the stage.

Peter was so moved and flabbergasted that he couldn’t even join in with the enthusiastic crowd, just sat, dumbfounded. Sasha’s costume did things with gender that he could not articulate, but somehow understood on a spiritual level. He realized at one point that he was tearing up and quickly shook himself, but it was okay because he caught Wade wiping at his eyes when everyone stood to applaud.

*~*~*

“She’s fucking perfect,” Wade kept saying on the train ride home.

“I told you,” Peter laughed, showing him a picture on his phone of Sasha dressed as Queen Elizabeth I. Wade squealed out loud, and it was a testament to the disillusionment of late-night train passengers that no one looked at him.

“She shaves her head as like a tribute to her mom,” Peter shared, “because her mom lost hers from chemo.”

The childlike glee suddenly left Wade’s face. He nodded, looking kind of ill. Shit. Peter quickly found more pictures (Sasha and her puppy wearing her signature looks). Soon Wade was squealing happily again, and Peter made a mental note to never ever bring up cancer, shoving down his urge to ask Wade about it so that he could comfort him.

They were spending the night at Wade’s place since Peter had new employee orientation at Stark Tech in the morning and it was much closer. Doreen and Gabby were already tucked into their room for the night, so Wade and Peter made out at they moved towards Wade’s bedroom, which was becoming a thing for them. The thought of their having a “thing” made Peter feel warm and happy.

“Can I dress up a little for you?”

Peter blinked as Wade set him down on his bed. “Sure! Dress up like --?”

Wade shrugged, standing in front of Peter, looking a bit unsure. “I guess the show kind of inspired me. And you did say you liked me in nylons, so—“

Oh. Oh my. Wade was watching him carefully, and Peter realized he was sitting with his mouth open like a fish.

“Yes, I mean yeah, I—yeah,” Peter said, eloquently. “Um, but I don’t want to, like—“

He struggled to find the words. Wade cocked his head to the side, curiously. He was fucking this up, he should just say yes he was incredibly turned on by the idea of Wade “dressing up” for him, but he thought of how interested Wade had been in the term gender-fluid. The word “dysphoria” danced through his brain.

“I don’t want to, um,” Peter attempted, “sexualize, like, the way you express your gender, or anything.”

Wade stared at him a moment, and Peter held his breath, but then a fond smile crossed his face. Peter thought he could let Wade look at him like that for a long, long time. Wade leaned down and kissed him.

“I appreciate that,” Wade said, “but right now you have my permission to sexualize my gender performance.”

Wade would not let Peter help him. He grabbed a few items from his closet and ducked into his bathroom (their apartment was kind of unbelievable). Peter sat on the bed where Wade had set him, fidgeting with the comforter, admiring the organized chaos of Wade’s room. He loved that Wade was even more of a hot mess than him when it came to cleaning.

The bathroom door creaked open, and Peter’s breath caught in his throat. Wade stepped out and looked at him, his expression super vulnerable but also weirdly—confident? Peter let his eyes rove down Wade’s long body, his naked torso with its patchwork of scars, to his legs, which were encased in black, nylon stockings with lacy trim at the tops. He was wearing black satin-y underwear – panties, they were panties. Peter could see the outline of Wade’s cock through the clingy fabric. A fancy network of ribbons connected his nylons to the garter belt around his waist. He was wearing black stilettos.

Peter looked back up to Wade’s face, which was anxious and eager. “Turn around for me?”

Wade grinned. He turned in a slow circle, perfectly balanced and graceful in heels so high that looking at them made Peter’s ankles feel twisted. Peter got a better look at the belt and how it connected to the nylons, but mostly he was fixated on Wade’s perfect ass in those panties.

Wade turned a full circuit and looked back at Peter, his face flushed just a little bit. Peter realized his breath was coming faster.

“C’mere?” he asked, trying not to make grabby-hands. Wade sauntered over to him – there was no word for it but saunter—and Peter reverently took hold of his hips. The panties felt even more soft and silky than they looked. Peter brushed the ribbons of the garter with his fingertips, afraid to mess them up. He rubbed Wade’s muscular thighs through the smooth material of the nylons.

Wade was moaning softly, head fallen forward, eyes closed as Peter touched him. Peter could stand it no longer and kissed Wade on the stomach before gently pushing him back so that Peter could get rid of his own clothing as quickly as possible.

“Can I ride you, please, Daddy?”

“Fuck,” Peter sighed unromantically. He could feel Wade grin against the skin of his neck. “Yes, please.”

“Yes, please, what?” Wade asked in his ear, innocently.

Shit. Peter had figured out that Wade was super turned on by the explicit consent thing, and now he understood the appeal. “Yes, please ride me, baby.”

Peter was not sure where the fuck that pet-name had come from, but Wade either didn’t hear him or didn’t mind. He pushed him back so that Peter was lying long ways on the bed, then gracefully crawled up to straddle him. Peter’s cock was happily trapped between his stomach and Wade’s crotch, and he moaned brokenly when Wade rocked his hips, satin panties brushing his most sensitive skin.

Wade watched him, ghost of a smile on his face as he lifted up, took hold of Peter’s cock, and reached behind himself to pull his panties aside. Peter started to protest, but then he felt Wade’s slick pucker against the head of his dick – he’d gotten himself ready in every way while he’d been in the bathroom, evidently. He lowered himself down, his tight heat swallowing Peter up. Peter tried not to grip his thighs too hard, but the nylons felt so good, and holy shit now Wade was lifting up and lowering back down, and Peter’s head was going to explode.

He accidently called Wade “baby” a few more times, but he couldn’t help it when Wade whimpered and moaned and told Peter how good he felt inside of him. When he was too close to handle it anymore, Peter reached into the silky panties and wrapped his hand around Wade’s cock as best he could, and Wade begged so prettily, pleading for his daddy to let him come.

“I really like that.”

Wade lifted his head partially off of Peter’s chest, where he had curled up with him in post-coital snuggles. “Which part?”

“All of it,” Peter said, quickly. He reached his hand down to caress Wade’s ass, which was still wrapped in satiny panties like the best gift ever. “Obviously. Holy shit. But – I like you calling me that, too.”

Wade kind of flushed. He bit his lip, looking both pleased and conflicted. “I liked you calling me that. Baby.”

Peter felt himself smile. He stroked Wade’s bald, scarred head.

“I’m not into age play or anything,” Wade said, that edge of self-protection in his voice.

“Well, I don’t know what that is,” Peter confessed, “so you’re safe.”

Wade laughed quietly and buried his face back in Peter’s chest.

*~*~*

“Jesus Christ, that’s fucking brilliant.”

“I know!” Peter exclaimed, flailing a little and shaking his phone. Wanda, eyes glued to the video of Sasha’s Judy performance, took the device from him and held it closer to her face.

“It’s even better live,” he said, flailing a bit more freely and glancing around again to make sure no one was paying attention to them. “I want to take you back to see it, but there’s no way I could afford that shit.”

“How can Wade afford it?” Wanda asked, watching Sasha saunter gorgeously offstage. “He dresses like a hobo.”

Peter tried not to bristle at the comparison between his boyfriend and a hobo, mostly because he and Wade had never actually used that word or had a conversation about what they were.

“I don’t know,” he shrugged as Wanda handed him his phone back. “He says he’s in wealth management.”

Wanda raised an eyebrow. “What does that mean? Like a banker?”

Huh. Peter tried to imagine Wade in a suit sitting behind a desk, talking about loans with his wry smile on his face. He thought of Wade working in a place like this, this white, spacious room with a table holding six huge carafes of coffee and a neatly-stacked pile of Stark Tech mugs. Peter was pretty sure he’d even seen a small fridge filled with bottles of water. Plastic bottles. The whole room, the whole building felt so – alien, such a harsh switch from his sweet little apartment where he’d left Wade on his futon with a groggy goodbye kiss only a few hours ago.

“Probably not?”

Wanda made a face, then laughed. “Well, he’s got great taste in drag shows, anyway.”

“He didn’t know who Sasha was,” Peter confessed. “He took me to this because Doreen and Gabby told him to.”

Wanda laughed even more, and Peter’s chest felt warm and fuzzy. They spent the rest of his break from New Employee Orientation talking about male-ness and absence and a whole bunch of other stuff that kind of went over Peter’s head but still sounded really interesting.

*~*~*

“What does ‘wealth management’ mean?”

Peter felt like he was seven and asking May what a “lady of the evening” was after he’d heard the phrase on TV. But unlike then, when she’d very calmly explained to him what euphemism was, now she just blinked at him across the hospital cafeteria table.

“Like a banker?” she offered. Peter shrugged and ate some more of his fries, which were not actually that bad.

“He’s not, like,” May leaned over her salad towards him, conspiratorially, “a sugar daddy or anything, is he?”

Peter nearly choked on a fry.

“It’s fine if he is!” May amended, quickly. “God knows, if anyone deserves a sugar daddy, you do, sweetie.”

“I don’t know if that’s what’s happening,” Peter said, looking around to make sure no one else in the cafeteria was hearing this conversation.

“Well, I support anything you decide to do,” May smirked, daintily spearing her salad. “Even if that’s becoming a professional sugar baby.”

Peter groaned as May giggled into her spinach. He was so happy she was feeling less stressed out, but he would need to seriously restrict her internet access.

*~*~*

“I kind of thought there would be actual kids from the shelter here.”

Wade half-smiled at him over the books they were sorting. “Are you disappointed?”

“No,” Peter said, narrowing his eyes at Wade, mock-threateningly. Truth be told, he was relieved – it wasn’t that he didn’t want to be around little kids with no parents, it was just that he knew without May and Ben he would have probably been one of them and it made him feel weirdly guilty.

“Did you want to see their grateful little soot-smudged faces?” Wade giggled.

Peter shoved a pile of picture books at him. “No, and this is not a Dickens novel, jerk.”

Wade giggled more and kissed him right as one of the nice foster-mom lesbians put a new box of donated books down next to them. She smiled and made a happy “hum” noise as she bustled away. Peter felt himself flush and kind of glanced around, but Wade continued sorting happily as if nothing special had happened. Wade had kissed him in public, in front of all of their friends and acquaintances who were here to help with the book drive.

As he was still basking in happy jitters, Peter looked up to see Emma coming towards them. She smiled at Peter, friendly but with tight lips, then turned to Wade. “Can I talk to you?”

“Sure,” Wade said, shrugging at Peter as he followed her away. For a moment, Peter was afraid they were in trouble for kissing, but then the actual adult part of his brain told him that was ridiculous. He still craned his neck to try to see where Emma lead him.

“Miles is so excited for the Sock Hop!”

Peter turned, startled, to see Rio Morales’ smiling face. “Me, too,” he said, trying to calm his heart rate. “I’m not one-hundred-percent sure what a sock hop is, but—“

“It’s like a dance, but less weird,” she informed. “Is your boyfriend coming to help chaperone?”

It took Peter a moment to realize she was talking about Wade. It had been a goddamn long time since he’d had a boyfriend, and he wasn’t sure he’d ever had one who people referred to as his boyfriend in the casual, open way that Rio had.

“I don’t know,” Peter grasped. “Is that allowed, since he’s not—?”

“I think it’d be great,” she said, sorting the pile of books that Wade had left behind. “The kids are really trying to get more LGBTQ visibility at the Academy.”

Peter tried to focus as Rio told him about Miles and Kamala’s friend Sam who was definitely questioning and had no resources and how there were probably so many other kids like him. But when she excused herself to get more donations, Peter went in the direction he’d seen Emma take Wade.

He saw them down a small hallway off of the community hall. Their conversation was – heated. Emma was pissed. She was gesturing insistently, and Wade was shaking his head, his lips pressed together in a way that Peter knew meant he was holding himself back.

“Everything okay?” he asked when Wade appeared back in the hall. Emma had gone in the opposite direction.

“Yeah,” Wade shrugged. “You know how it is – I’m her fave, so she worries over me.”

Peter thought that was a bunch of horseshit, but it wasn’t actually his business. Even though Wade was maybe his boyfriend. But Wade walked him to the train station and held his hand and kissed him goodbye. Peter forgot to ask about the Sock Hop, but he’d see Wade in a couple of days, after he got back from another of his business trips. Wealth management.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Sasha Velour's amazing performance of "The Man That Got Away": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=IPrYMn3YnG4
> 
> Here's Judy singing "Hey, Daddy": https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MyeiQKQYBUU
> 
> Next chapter: communication, serious-relationshippy-ness, and conflicting philosophies on social justice!!!
> 
> Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	10. Embraceable You

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HOORAY FOR PLOT
> 
> Bless my sweet angel of a Beta, QQI25

Peter was waiting for Miles and Kamala in their cafeteria when a small figure plopped down in the seat next to him.

“Hey, are you Peter?”

He looked up from the Chemistry textbook that he was trying to turn into kid-language. A smallish boy with brown hair was beside him, looking at him but not focused on his eyes. “Yeah?” he replied.

“I’m Sam,” the kid said. “I’m friends with Miles and Kamala and they said I should talk to you about boys.”

Peter was not sure a child had ever said anything that alarming to him. “Uh—as in--?”

“Like boyfriends,” Sam explained, and even though he wasn’t looking directly into Peter’s eyes (because he was blind, Peter finally figured out) his impatient frown was still very intense. “Like what having a boyfriend is like and how to get one and stuff, you know.”

Peter did not know. He reached into his adult brain to find something that sounded appropriate. “Well, you just have to be patient and make friends with a lot of different kinds of people and, um, one day you meet the right person. Right?”

Yick, Peter thought, and Sam’s face echoed him. “What the hell?” Sam responded. “What’s the use of talking to you if you just say the same shit every other grown up says?”

Peter knew he had been a difficult teenager, angry and lonely and too smart for his own good. Ben had been unbelievably patient with him. May had been patient with him, too, but she’d also repeatedly told him that she looked forward to the day when he had to deal with a teenager of his own who was just like him. Peter thought he’d escaped her curse by being mostly gay and awful at relationships, but now here was this kid, his teenage self, come to collect. He could almost hear May’s bell-like laughter.

“Sorry,” Sam said in a much less edgy voice. He must have mistaken Peter’s stunned silence for stony disapproval. “It’s just hard, when, like, everything’s about boys and girls and nobody’s, like, mean about it but it’s just what they default to, you know?”

That Peter did know. He took a deep breath, thinking. “Honestly, I was terrible at dating and flirting and even having friends when I was your age. I’m not great at it now.”

“But you have a boyfriend,” Sam said, some of his demanding tone coming back. “Right?”

He did? “Well, I’m –“

“So how’d you get him?”

Peter floundered. Wade, the fact that Wade spent so much time with him, made dinner with him, had crazy sex with him – it was a miracle. It shouldn’t have happened, but it just had. “I mean, we met at a thing,” he attempted, “so going to social things with people who are interested in the stuff you are is maybe a step—“

“Uh huh,” Sam said, as if making a mental list.

“And then we started hanging out watching movies together.” And then we got high after Pride and had super-sensory-sex, Peter did not say.

“That’s it?” Sam asked, half-skeptical, half-hopeful. “That sounds easy.”

Shit. That did sound easy.

Kamala and Miles showed up then, but Sam seemed relatively satisfied, even hung around for a little chemistry until Miles told him he was being disruptive.

*~*~*

_Don’t be a naughty Papa_

_Come to baby, come to baby, do_

Peter smiled against Wade’s mouth as Judy sang that line. He couldn’t help it. Wade also hummed appreciatively before moving down to suck a hickey on Peter’s neck.

Wade had been sitting in his apartment when he got home from work, of course. Peter had asked him how his trip was, and he had said it was “fine” before starting to remove Peter’s pants. Peter hadn’t minded – he’d been going insane knowing Wade was back in town and he couldn’t see him for hours, especially after he’d gotten a text that said, “I’m home, little Daddy.” Guh. Peter may have looked at that text a lot throughout his work day.

He’d been a bit aggressive, he felt. Wade had not seemed to mind. He’d let Peter pin his knees up to his shoulders and fuck him hard. All of that man, all of that muscle bent up and open for him had made Peter dizzy. It had also given him some ideas.

Now that they were watching _Girl Crazy_ and having a post-coital make-out session, it seemed like a good time to bring them up.

“Would you ever want to, um – pitch some time?”

Wade’s mouth stopped sucking at the spot on Peter’s neck. He sat up. “Pitch?”

“You know,” Peter said, not understanding why he felt shy. Minutes ago he had called Wade his sweet baby and asked him if he liked having Daddy’s cock inside of him. This should not be a big deal. “Like, would you want to take a turn – penetrating?”

Wade smiled at his awkwardness, and Peter relaxed. “Do you do anything that isn’t cute?”

“Fuck yourself,” Peter said, and Wade laughed, pretty blue eyes twinkling in the way Peter loved.

He thought that would be followed up by Wade answering his question, but instead he pulled Peter into his lap and turned his attention to the dance number on the laptop screen.

“That dress is scandalous,” Wade said, watching Judy admiringly. “I want it so badly.”

Peter imagined Wade in the dress Judy was wearing, which was indeed scandalous and clung to her beautifully. He shook himself. “Would you, though?” he asked. “You don’t have to if you don’t, like, want to—“

“No, sure,” Wade said, rubbing his thigh. “We can do that. Now?”

“Not now,” Peter said, snuggling his nose into Wade’s warm neck. “Next time.”

Wade gave him a squeeze and leaned his head against Peter’s. They watched the movie in comfortable silence for a while. It gave Peter time to realize he’d been expecting a very different reaction. The thought of Wade’s big body over him, fucking him, it made his knees feel weak. He’d thought Wade would at least sound as enthusiastic about that as he was about every other new thing they tried. Maybe he was just tired.

“So your trip went okay?” he asked.

“Yep,” Wade answered, a little too fast. “How was your first Stark Tech gig?”

There was a moment when Peter could have called him out, brought up that Wade knew absolutely everything about his work and his day-to-day life while he didn’t even know what the fuck “wealth management” meant.

But Peter was a goddamn coward. He told Wade all about his experience shooting an event for Stark Tech, which had actually gone really well and been pretty fun. Wade listened and combed his fingers through Peter’s hair, and they fell asleep cuddled on the futon together.

*~*~*

“So you’re a doctor?”

Peter nearly choked on his pasta. He had been so terribly nervous about their dinner with Preston and her family, but it had actually been going very well with Wade and Preston and her husband (Shane, Peter now knew) carrying the brunt of the conversation. Now, though, the person Peter most wanted to like him was looking at him with big, expectant brown eyes.

“No,” he croaked, trying to swallow his food.

Ellie frowned and turned to her dad. “Why did you tell me he’s a doctor? I thought you had a doctor boyfriend.”

“I said he’s going to be a doctor,” Wade said as Preston laughed into her wine glass. “But he has to go to grad school first, right, babe?”

Peter was still processing Wade’s daughter referring to him as her dad’s boyfriend and Wade calling him “babe,” but he managed to nod.

“Ooh, what degree? Where do you want to go?” asked Shane, who was super friendly and who Peter liked very much already.

“Probably biochem,” he said. “And probably whatever school will let me go there for free.”

Preston and Shane laughed, sympathetically. Jeff, their son, started asking Peter all kinds of chemistry questions, and he ended up helping him with his homework after dinner.

“You’re a good teacher,” Preston complimented. They were sitting together at the kitchen table while Shane and Wade played some elaborate, dinosaur-themed game with the kids.

“Oh, thanks,” Peter said, feeling weirdly nervous again. He wasn’t quite over how cool and badass Preston was – it wasn’t as intense as when he’d first met her and thought she was Wade’s wife, but still. “I like teaching. A lot.”

“And you’re a photographer, too?” Preston asked, looking at him carefully. “Do you like doing that?”

“Yeah, I like it.” Huh, Peter realized – he really did like it.

“Well, I hate to do this to you,” Preston said, straightening, “but we badly need a photographer, social-media person for our BLM chapter. But it would be totally volunteer work, so since you actually make money doing that, you should feel free to say no.”

“I could do that,” Peter said, feeling a spark in his chest, “I mean, I would, I’d like to.”

“Think about it and tell me later,” Preston said, waving her hand in a non-pressuring way. “I just wanted to put it on your radar. Also, it was a good excuse to finally get you over here to meet Ellie, because Wade was never going to set this up.”

Preston laughed. Peter tried to, but he felt a knot forming in his stomach. Preston seemed to notice.

“I mean, he would have eventually,” she corrected, briefly touching Peter’s arm. “He just takes forever to get shit done, you know?”

Right. Peter nodded, and then the dinosaur game got particularly loud, giving him and Preston an excuse to watch that instead of continue their now-awkward interaction. Peter watched Wade carry Ellie around on his shoulders as she roared like a T-Rex and batted at her brother with her tiny arms, and his chest flooded with warmth. The two of them were adorable together.

*~*~*

“Did you have fun?”

Peter looked up to see an endearingly anxious, hopeful expression on Wade’s face. “Yeah,” he said, squeezing his hand. He really had – Ellie had not paid much attention to him all evening, so he’d been surprised and delighted to get a big hug from her before they left.

“Yay,” Wade said, leaning towards him for a kiss. It was very sweet, how much the evening had obviously meant to him. Peter felt a pull in his middle, wanting to ask Wade about what Preston had said, but how would he? It had happened, they’d had dinner, he’d met Wade’s daughter – that was a huge step.

“Would you want to come with me to dinner at May’s house this week?”

The question had tumbled out of Peter’s mouth before he could stop it. Wade took kind of a big inhale, but then said, “Sure. Let’s do all the family-meeting.”

Peter let go of his hand to slip an arm around his waist. Wade’s big arm wrapped around his shoulders. It was kind of hard to walk that way, but they managed.

*~*~*

Peter had not seen Gabby and Doreen in forever. It was weird to be at Sister Margaret’s without Wade, but he was kind of touched that they had invited him and Wanda out, just the four of them. He knew Wanda had hung out with them a few times for “girls’ nights” – he wondered if this was technically a “girls’ night” and he was being included.

“So you two are great,” Gabby said after they had all gotten their drinks and caught up with each other’s lives, “and you are our newest friends, and you come to our house, so you need to know that Doreen and I are involved in our local Antifa group.”

Wanda’s face turned serious. Peter felt sort of lost.

“And we do Black Bloc stuff,” Doreen added. Both women were looking at them with concerned expressions. Peter followed Wanda’s lead and nodded, solemnly.

“We’re really careful,” Gabby went on. “We protect our identities, but since law enforcement is so corrupt, we wanted to say it out loud to both of you.”

“If we got doxxed, probably it wouldn’t affect you,” Doreen said, looking at Wanda, “but we just wanted you to know that if you don’t want to, like, come to our place anymore, we get it.”

Wanda nodded again, sipping her beer. “Thank you,” she said after a while.

Doreen and Gabby nodded, watching Wanda for a moment. “Do you hate us because we’re dirty anarchists now?” Doreen asked. It obliterated the tension, as Doreen was oh so good at doing.

“No,” Wanda laughed. “I think – I think it’s great. You two are very brave, I admire you.”

The three women shared fond smiles with each other. “Pete, we know you already know all about it,” Doreen said, finally looking at him, “but we just wanted to make sure you knew we were, too.”

“Yeah, talk about brave,” Gabby laughed. “We should probably be scared to hang out with you _,_ all the crazy shit Wade gets into.”

Peter managed to smile.

“Jesus, I’ve never seen you put a beer away,” Doreen said to him a few minutes later.

“Long week,” Peter said. Doreen and Gabby laughed, sympathetically. Peter caught Wanda shooting him concerned looks the rest of the night. He loved her for not saying anything to him about it as they walked to the train stop together.

*~*~*

By the time Wade got to his place the next evening, Peter had looked at every article he could find about Black Bloc, Antifa groups, doxxing, and all the other unfamiliar and scary-sounding terms that he encountered in his research. He didn’t move when Wade bent down and gave him a sweet kiss on the cheek.

“When you go on your business trips,” Peter asked, slowly, “are you doing Antifa stuff? Black bloc stuff?”

Wade looked at him for a long moment. “No,” he said, calmly. “When I go on my business trips, I’m making money. I punch Nazis for free.”

“Is that what Emma was mad at you about?” Peter asked. Now that he was in it, he might as well get in up to his neck.

Wade sighed, pressing his lips together, a lot like Peter had seen him do when he’d been fighting with Emma. “She thinks I owe her something because she got rid of that assaulting-an-officer charge,” Wade explained. “She says she ‘stuck her neck out’ for me, but I didn’t ask her to do that, so she doesn’t get to tell me what to do.”

“Is it the Antifa stuff?” Peter pressed. “She’s worried about you getting arrested again?” For something worse, he thought to himself.

“Listen,” Wade sat forward, elbows on his knees, “when I do my thing, I keep my face and head covered, I don’t carry ID, I don’t carry my phone. I take care of my shit. That night at the protest with you, I did not expect the Third Reich to show up. I should have, but I wasn’t prepared like I normally am. I was all shook up over this really cute, angry little twink I’d just met.”

Peter hated himself for blushing. Wade grinned his lopsided grin. Goddamnit.

“Is it dangerous?” he asked, feeling stupid. “Could you get, like – doxxed?”

The adorable grin disappeared from Wade’s face. Then it came back. “Anybody could get doxxed. You could.”

Peter’s throat closed up a little. “Why would anybody--?”

“Hey, you’re a pinko-commie activist,” Wade shrugged. “Nazis hate that.”

Peter imagined May coming around the corner, on her way from her train stop to her building, and a group of white supremacists suddenly emerging from the shadows.

“I’m not trying to freak you out,” Wade said, looking contrite. “But helping people, like actually helping people, means that assholes are going to hate you and try to hurt you. That’s just how it is.”

Peter looked into Wade’s ridiculously pretty eyes. He remembered the first time Wade had looked right at him, how it had struck him. There was always a bit of challenge there, like Wade was constantly asking him if he meant it, if he was for real.

“Did you blow up those ICE vans in El Paso?”

Wade’s eyes went wide, and Peter felt a rush of satisfaction. “Let’s maybe not talk about that out loud--“

That was a yes. Peter found he wasn’t angry. In fact, it was kind of hot.  He thought of Wade, dressed in black, setting bombs in a van at night, sneaking around like he was in an action movie. There was more he needed to ask, but Wade was hugging him and kissing his temple. Later, definitely later. Baby steps.

*~*~*

Dinner with May. Was. Awkward.

She had made penne alla vodka, knowing it was something Wade and Peter had made together and Wade liked. But instead of getting enthusiastic about food, like he always did, Wade was quiet. Not downright rude, but – very nearly. Peter tried to engage him a few times early in the evening, but eventually gave up, eating his feelings in the form of delicious pasta.

“So you’re in wealth management, Wade?”

Shit. Bless May. What was she supposed to do when Wade was sitting like a bump on a log and Peter was stewing? He tried to come up with some way to head this conversation off, but Peter was just not good at this stuff, period. All he could do was watch helplessly as Wade looked up, his expression closed.

“That’s right.”

May nodded, encouragingly, but Wade didn’t seem like he was going to elaborate. “And you travel a lot for work?” she tried again. “That must be exciting.”

Wade kind of shrugged and picked at his pasta. Peter wanted to throw the table over and throw his full glass of wine in Wade’s face. Except that would probably turn him on, the bastard.

*~*~*

“What the fuck was that?”

Peter had promised himself he would wait until they were back at his place before unloading, but his temper had other ideas. To his credit, Wade didn’t try to play dumb.

“I told you,” he said, shrugging, and Peter thought that if he shrugged one more time he would hurt him somehow. “I’m shit at family stuff.”

“You seemed pretty good at it,” Peter hissed, “when we were at Preston’s the other night.”

Wade frowned at him as they boarded their train. “That’s kind of an unfair comparison, don’t you think?”

“I think,” Peter went on, unable to stop himself, “that you’re trying to, like – deliberately sabotage this or something.”

Peter saw a flash of hurt in Wade’s eyes before he looked away. He felt bad, but his temper reminded him that it was Wade who’d just ruined something important to him. They rode in silence and went right to bed when they got back to Peter’s apartment. Wade didn’t exactly apologize but did kind of run his hand down Peter’s back after he’d turned away from him to sleep, and Peter relented by scooting back so that Wade could spoon him.

*~*~*

“Sweetie, it’s not a big deal.”

Peter shook his head. He had come over to help May figure out Medicare, but of course that had quickly turned into her comforting him about last night’s dinner, because evidently every woman in his life was just there to meet his emotional needs. Peter hated himself.

“He was being a jerk,” he said, tightly, scrolling through the website without looking at it.

“He was nervous,” May said. “I could see how nervous he was, poor thing.”

Peter shook his head again. He couldn’t look at her sweet, understanding face. He kind of wanted to curl up in her lap and cry, which he hadn’t done in – okay, it hadn’t actually been that long. Christ, he was pathetic.

May squeezed his shoulder in that magical way she did that always made him feel better, and Peter managed to get out of his own asshole enough to actually help her figure out her insurance. Within about an hour they’d gotten her signed up for okay-ish coverage that she could afford now that Peter was able to help with her rent.

“I don’t like you doing that,” she said for the umpteenth time.

“I do,” Peter said, kissing her on the cheek. “And it’s just for now until you get settled at a new hospital.”

She didn’t argue, but she did send him home with an entire loaf of zucchini bread. Peter did not mind one little bit – May was as good at baking as Wade was at cooking.

Peter paused in putting on his bag. It was possibly a good idea, or would possibly lead to another awful, awkward night that would make him fall completely out of love with Wade. But May was just simply more important to him than any other human, and he needed this to work.

“What are you doing for dinner tonight?” he asked her.

*~*~*

“So May’s coming over.”

Wade’s happy humming paused but he did not stop chopping ginger. “Tonight?”

“Yeah,” Peter said as he set a large-ish pot of water on his tiny stovetop. “She’s bringing dessert.”

Wade chopped a moment, not looking at him. Peter tried to breathe normally. “Did you tell her what we’re making?” Wade asked. “So she could pair?”

Peter’s stomach unknotted somewhat. “I did, and she said she’d bring something chocolate-y.”

Wade hummed, approving. “Perfect.”

Peter gave him a big hug from behind, and Wade paused in his chopping to kiss him on the head. Five minutes later, May arrived with almond-chocolate cake with a chocolate ganache topping.

It was almost exactly the dinner that Peter had fantasized about the three of them having together. Wade was still a little quiet at first, but then May brought up that she and Peter had just finished changing her insurance coverage to make it more affordable, and that sent Wade into a diatribe about capitalism and how every other developed country had health care for its citizens. May was a genius.

By the time they were sitting down to eat, she had Wade explaining exactly how socialism could work in the United States. Peter ate and listened to the two of them – it might have been influenced by the happiness in his heart, but the ginger-garlic-chili linguini Wade had made was possibly the best thing he’d ever eaten.

“This is amazingly good,” May complimented as Wade put a second helping of pasta in her bowl. “I think my grandma used to make this.”

Wade looked adorably bashful, and Peter’s heart melted. “I just found it in a magazine and thought it sounded zany,” he said. “I only ever made Tex-Mex before Peter forced me to start making Italian.”

“That’s my boy,” May said, smiling proudly.

Peter loved them both so much and felt so happy that it was almost scary. They watched _Girl Crazy_ again while eating May’s cake, which Wade couldn’t stop making yummy noises about. May seemed delighted to have someone who could match her in Judy trivia. She promised to send Wade her cake recipe and hugged both of them tightly before she left.

“Was that okay?” Peter asked, sliding his arms around Wade’s waist once they were alone.

Wade answered by pulling Peter against him, one big hand on his lower back, and kissing him deeply.

“I’m sorry about the other night,” he said, quietly.

“You were nervous,” Peter said, nuzzling Wade’s jaw with his nose. “I should’ve had her over here to begin with.”

They indulged in silent snuggling for another few minutes before turning to the dishes. May had offered to help with them, but Peter and Wade had insisted that they would take care of it. She was their guest. Peter’s insides jumped pleasantly at the thought of the two of them having guests together. He remembered the first night Wade had come over and made him dinner, how natural it had felt. He watched Wade clean oil off of his tiny stove now, and he still felt it – just this weird sense of rightness, like it was how things were supposed to be. Maybe he’d just been too lonely for too long, but he didn’t think that was it.

“I have to go out of town this week.”

Peter looked over to see Wade glance at him kind of furtively, like he was nervous. Peter felt a pit in his own stomach. But he had to ask, goddamnit. He’d promised himself.

“Where?”

Wade didn’t look at him, rubbing a spot on the stove. “Another state.”

It felt like ice was creeping over Peter’s shoulders, up his neck. “For work?”

“Yeah,” Wade said, still rubbing the same spot.

Peter took a deep breath. He put away the dish he was drying and leaned against the counter, directly facing Wade. “Why are you going? What are you going to do?”

Wade didn’t answer for what seemed like a long time. Peter watched him rub at the spot on the stove some more, then give up, hanging the rag over the sink. He leaned against the stove, facing Peter at an angle.

“I don’t want to tell you that,” Wade said.

Shit – here it was, the big talk. It was happening. Peter sort of wanted to rewind, to just curl up on the futon together, to have kinky sex and not talk at all. Too late.

“Because it’s illegal?” Peter asked. “Because it’s dangerous?”

“Yes and yes,” Wade said, blue eyes peering right back at him. “You don’t need me to tell you that.”

“I tell you everything,” Peter said, pissed to hear a little hitch in his own voice already. “You know everything about me.”

“Bullshit,” Wade said, grinning a little.

Peter felt his anger spike. At least that would keep him from crying, maybe. “What the fuck do you mean, ‘bullshit?’” he spat. “I tell you everything about my stupid day and stupid jobs and everyone I know—“

“There’s all kinds of shit about your life I don’t know,” Wade said, calmly. “I don’t know why May is your only family – I mean, if I was going to have only one family member, it’d be May, don’t get me wrong—“

Peter inhaled through his nose. If Wade was trying to get out of this by being sweet about May – well, then that was a great tactic, but it wasn’t going to work tonight.

“My parents were in Doctors Without Borders, and they were together overseas and got killed by an IED,” Peter said. “I grew up with May and her husband, and when I was fifteen, he surprised a burglar in our house and the guy shot him.”

All trace of a grin left Wade’s face. He stared at Peter, his pretty eyes serious, and Peter couldn’t quite read them but he thought Wade might be fighting the urge to close the small distance and hug him. Part of Peter wanted that badly, and another, louder part said that Wade had better fucking not.

“That sucks,” Wade said, no pity in his voice, just – respect.

“Now you,” Peter said, holding his gaze.

For a moment, Wade looked like he was going to roll his eyes and deflect again, but he seemed to think better of it. He wiped his hands over his face and looked at a spot above Peter’s head.

“I make money,” he said, slowly, “by doing jobs people hire me to do. They are almost always illegal in some way, and they usually involve taking power from the motherfuckers who have it.”

“Alone?” The image of Wade going into a dark, dangerous place by himself popped up in Peter’s brain.

“Sometimes,” Wade admitted, still not looking at him. “But there are a couple of other people I work with. They’re veterans, too, they hate the fucking government, and we just – do things only people with our skills can do. And we make lots and lots of money, and we use what we need and give the rest to people who don’t have any.”

“Like mercenaries?” Peter asked.

Wade shrugged, finally looking at him with a sheepish smile. “I like to think of myself as more of a Lisbeth Salander type.”

Of course he did, Peter thought with a sigh. “So when you say wealth management, you’re stealing from rich people or like sabotaging them?”

Wade nodded. Peter did not like the sort of guarded look in his eyes, like he was keeping something back.

“Do you--” Peter found he couldn’t ask what he wanted to know, so he backed it down. “Do you hurt people?”

Wade looked at him for a long moment, as if he knew what Peter was really asking. “Not anymore,” he said, finally.

Peter didn’t say anything. He couldn’t look at Wade, just stared at the cabinet next to his head. He felt frozen, like his brain and body had shut down.

“Hey, I tried to talk you out of this,” Wade said, a shaky laugh in his voice. “Don’t forget.”

Peter shook himself from his daze. Wade looked – sad? Angry? He seemed unable to settle, fidgeting with the washrag, squeezing it out repeatedly in the sink even though no water came from it. Peter put his hands over Wade’s much bigger ones, stilling them. He took the dish rag and draped it back over the edge of the sink.

“I’ll get out of your hair,” Wade said. Peter realized he was gathering his phone and keys.

“Wade—“ Peter managed, but Wade just gave him a small wave over his shoulder as he headed for the door.

“Lock up,” Wade reminded him, gesturing at the complicated security devices he’d installed on Peter’s door. His voice sounded tight, strained. Peter’s brain screamed for him to stop him, to throw himself in front of the door, push Wade down on the futon and refuse to let him leave. But he stood still, rooted to the spot in his tiny kitchen.

The door closed behind Wade and Peter heard his heavy boots clomp down the hallway. He didn’t know how long he stood there, hoping to hear them clomp back towards him. After a while, he lay down on his futon, in all of his clothes, and tried to fall asleep. He had work in the morning. But he couldn’t stop thinking of Wade, his Wade, holding a huge gun and firing it at some unseen target.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> .......YAAAAAY!!! *confetti*
> 
> Here's beautiful Judy singing this lovely, touching, weirdly heartbreaking song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=A5TrNfV5mXE
> 
> Come tumble me! crockzilla.tumblr.com


	11. The Man That Got Away

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am SO sorry this chapter took forever! The end is in sight, folks!
> 
> All praise and wonderment to my beloved beta, QQI25!!!

Peter’s grade school was just a couple of blocks up from the textile factory, which meant Ben could walk him to school every single day. Ben probably would have walked him even if his work hadn’t been so close, truth be told. It was the only part of the day Peter looked forward to besides dinner.

“Did I ever tell you about how your aunt almost married a jewelry thief?”

Peter’s eyes had gone wide. Ben’s eyes had twinkled with mirth as he launched into the story. It would be hilarious, when they all three finally were home together at the end of the day, to tell May what story Ben had told him. She would roll her eyes as they laughed and call them a pair of twits.

Peter hadn’t thought about that in forever. When they were young, probably only a few years younger than Peter was now, May dated this really charming, handsome guy who had a lot of money. May was gorgeous, then and now, so it didn’t surprise Peter that she had people fighting over her. Except this guy was bad news. Ben somehow knew that and tried to tell May, but she thought he was just jealous. Then the guy showed up at May’s house in the middle of the night and told her she had to leave town with him, right before a bunch of cop cars pulled up outside.

The problem wasn’t that he was a criminal, May had told Peter. There were lots of reasons to break the law, some good ones, even. The problem was that, handsome and rich and charming as he was, this guy had hurt people.

“Violence just doesn’t do anybody any good, Pete.”

He could hear Ben say it so clearly in his mind, even though he’d been dead for over a decade now, and oh, didn’t that thought just break Peter’s heart?

He’d heard it so often from both of them: nothing makes it okay to hurt people. They never punished him or even got mad at him for defending himself against bullies, but surely they could see how angry he was, that he often wanted to get back at his bullies, get even. Back then, May and Ben were the only people he loved, and they were so sweet and gentle, always, and he hated himself for not being more like them.

Violence doesn’t do any good. Peter didn’t know much about Ben’s time in the army, but he’d definitely gotten a look at violence up close.

_Do you hurt people?_

_Not anymore._

There were entirely too many articles on the internet about the awful things that could happen to folks involved in Antifa and Black Bloc groups. Peter had plenty of time to read them all, because he hadn’t heard anything from Wade in over a week.

But what Wade was doing, whatever mission he was off on at this very moment, wasn’t exactly Black Bloc or even social action. Peter scanned the headlines for – well, he didn’t know what. More ICE vans blown up? Some big evil corporation burglarized? Some high-profile hatemonger – hurt? Assassinated?

Nothing. He couldn’t tell. He pulled himself off of his futon and out the door to get to his shift at the lab.

*~*~*

Peter usually made it to Brooklyn Visions a little early, just because of how his schedule worked out. Since his conversation with little Sam, though, he’d started deliberately getting there even earlier so he could sit in the cafeteria well before his tutoring session with Miles and Kamala, just in case any queer kids needed someone to talk to. He wasn’t feeling like much of a mentor today, but he’d had a small flock of children developing the last couple of times he’d been there. He was going to be there for them if they wanted him.

“Do I have to ask someone to the Sock Hop?”

“I thought the idea was to just show up and dance with whoever?” Peter asked, and some of the other kids agreed. Easy one.

“Can you just go up to another dude and start dancing?” asked one little dude, who Peter was pretty sure was called Bobby.

“Sure,” Peter said, carefully, “and if they’re into it, great, and if not, then just back off, I guess. Like you would with anybody.”

“What if they’re into it?” Bobby asked, blushing a little.

“Then keep dancing,” Peter smiled. He caught another of the kids, a boy, also blushing and trying hard not to look at Bobby. Bless them.

“My mom says gay people don’t get married as much as straight people,” said another kid, “so they’re not as happy.”

There was an angry rumble among the small gathering of middle-schoolers. Peter felt his own temper spike, but the kid looked self-conscious and worried.

“Well, I definitely know gay people who are married and very happy,” Peter started, and some kids nodded enthusiastically, “but some people choose not to do that. What’s the point of being queer if we’re just going to copy what straight people do?”

“Are you gonna marry your boyfriend?” Sam asked from his spot next to Peter.

Kamala sharply tapped Sam on the back of his head. “Inappropriate.”

“Peter literally just explained to you that you don’t have to get married to be happy,” Miles said to Sam, who was rubbing his head and sulking. “Are you deaf now, too?”

Peter thought that was somewhat not okay, but Sam must have felt differently as he let out a roar of laughter. The three of them were clearly the kind of friends who just – knew what to do for each other. It almost made Peter feel less like his insides were splitting. Almost.

*~*~*

 Not having to find something to take pictures of every day and hope that he might get paid for them was – different. Peter found himself with time on his hands, and that was no good. Why didn’t he have any volunteering or social action scheduled when he knew he’d be free?

And then he realized that, up until very recently, all of his free time had been occupied by a tall, muscle-bound, scarred-up Vet-turned-mercenary.

He was trying to figure out where to go or what to do to occupy himself. Panic rose in his chest as his brain started conjuring horrible images of where Wade was or what he might be doing, what might be happening to him. Peter pulled out his phone to check for suspicious headlines again and found a text from Wanda. Thank fucking heaven.

_What are you up to tonight?_

Peter felt a rush of guilt. Wanda had asked him to hang out last week, but he’d had plans with Wade. He’d been a terrible friend.

_Hanging out with you? Pretty please?_

Wanda sent back a very smiley emoji, and Peter could have cried. He missed her so much. He promised himself not to bring up Wade, not to even think about Wade or anarchist violence or Black Bloc anything while he was with Wanda that night.

*~*~*

“What do you think about this Black Bloc business?”

Peter choked a little on his twice-cooked-pork. Wanda patted him on the back.

“Sorry,” he coughed, “um—I think it’s kind of scary.”

“Right?” Wanda sighed. “I mean, it’s not like Doreen and Gabby are these huge, muscle-bound people, but they’re out there, like, bringing the fight to the bad guys?”

Peter had not quite heard it put like that before or thought about it that way himself. God, he loved Wanda. “They’re super brave,” he said, lamely. “But I guess, you know – they’re queer, Gabby’s Latinx, it’s personal for them. They don’t feel safe.”

“Okay, that’s—“ Wanda paused, picking at her eggplant-with-garlic-sauce. “That’s what I keep thinking about, though. Shouldn’t it be personal for me? Shouldn’t I want to help them feel safe? Or anybody?”

Hearing the argument he’d been having with himself daily for months come out of Wanda’s mouth was -- sobering. “You do a lot,” Peter said. “You go to rallies, you volunteer—“

“Yeah, but does that actually do anything? To change things? Really?”

The two of them were silent for a long, heavy moment. Finally, Wanda sighed. “I just keep thinking about nonviolence and, like, MLK and Rosa Parks. Whom I have no right to think about, really—“

“I feel like Rosa Parks would be Antifa,” Peter said. “I’ve never thought about it before, but she totally would.”

Wanda smiled. “Instead of refusing to give up her seat, she knocks the bus over?”

“Yeah,” Peter grinned, “or busts all the windows with a baseball bat, throws a Molotov cocktail—“

Wanda laughed, but they quickly descended back into pensive silence. They’d obviously both been dwelling on this. Peter wasn’t sure why they hadn’t talked about it until now.

“It’s just,” Wanda said, slowly, “I’m young, I’m healthy, I have health insurance—I can’t stop thinking that I should ask them, I don’t know, if there’s anything I can do.”

Peter thought of Wanda dressed in black, face covered, wielding a baseball bat, marching against a sea of Nazis. It was kind of awesome. Then he imagined the horrific scenario he had for May, but with Wanda coming around the corner of her building, burly men jumping from the shadows to hurt her. He imagined a cop knocking Wanda to the ground with a riot shield.

“What do you think?” she asked him, directly. “Is it okay to be violent if it’s against, like, actual bad guys? Like, if they were dressed as Sith Lords, would we even hesitate?”

Peter huffed a laugh and shook his head. Sith Lords were one thing – you let Jedi handle them. The people Black Bloc took on were more like Imperial officers and storm troopers, cops and hateful bigots, the bad guys who actually caused the most damage on the ground.

“Let’s do it.”

Wanda’s eyes widened. “Let’s do it?” she repeated.

“Yeah,” he said, feeling his throat close with both terror and excitement. “Let’s meet Doreen and Gabby for drinks and tell them we want in, or, to help, or whatever.”

Wanda looked at him for another moment, then took a deep breath in and sighed it out. Then they both broke into nervous laughter.

“I’m happy to see you,” Peter said, affection overwhelming him.

“I’m happy to see you,” Wanda returned, gently kicking his shin. “Want to watch some Judy?”

Oh. Shit.

“Absolutely,” Peter said because he couldn’t come up with a good reason not to quickly enough.

Turned out that _A Star Is Born_ was the only Judy movie available on Wanda’s streaming service. Peter cursed himself for never bringing his poor dinosaur of a laptop out of the house or they might have had more options. But then he couldn’t think of any Judy movie that wouldn’t make him think of – the person he wasn’t thinking of tonight.

Peter managed to not pay much attention through the first chunk of the film. He made fun of James Mason’s voice, threw in lots of Judy trivia (that Wanda pretended to care about because she was a gem), and they chatted about Stark Tech gossip. But it seemed like neither of them could help quieting down when it came time for Judy to sing “The Man That Got Away.”

It was Peter’s habit, when he watched this movie (or just this number) by himself, to allow all of the feelings that he kept buried deep inside to flow out through his eyes. There was something about the rawness of Judy’s performance that just broke him. He was usually able to keep himself from doing this when he watched it with other people, but now the song was infused with so many other upsetting things – Wade cutely quoting this movie to him down a hallway, Wade clutching his knee as they watched Sasha Velour—

And then there was the fact that the goddamn song was about losing a relationship that had made you really really happy.

Luckily, Wanda had dimmed the lights before they started the movie. Peter sat on the other side of the couch from her, trying to sink into the shadows as much as possible, melting in his misery. If he tried to wipe the tears away as they fell, it would be a lot more obvious that he was crying like the pathetic waste of space that he was, so he decided to just let them flow for now and bite his lip hard enough to possibly draw blood. He propped his chin in his hand, hoping it would block Wanda’s view of him somewhat.

It did not work at all. He felt Wanda’s tiny, sweet hand on his shoulder. Peter tried to look at her without revealing himself, but she totally knew.

“Is Wade gone?” she asked.

 “Huh?” he said, trying to sneakily wipe his gross wet face and make it look like he was just rubbing his eyes.

“You haven’t had a night free in a while,” she explained. “I wasn’t going to bring it up, but—“

She tapered off, giving him space to talk. But he wasn’t going to make this about himself, goddamnit – not anymore than he already had.

“It’s okay,” he reassured, trying to keep his voice steady. “He’s out of town. It’s just—“

“It’s scary,” she helped him, and Peter nodded. “Sure.”

She scooted closer, and he did, too. They watched the rest of the movie shoulder to shoulder, at least until Peter passed out even earlier than usual. He hadn’t been getting much sleep that week.

*~*~*

“Have you heard from Wade?”

Panic spiked in Peter’s chest as he looked across the table at Gabby. “Haven’t you?” he asked.

Gabby shook her head, and he thought he could see his own fear reflected in her eyes. “Not for, like, a week,” she said. “Which is not that weird, I guess, just—“

Peter nodded, understanding. She and Doreen had assumed that Wade was in touch with Peter, so they hadn’t been too worried about him.

But he was not in touch with Peter. It sounded like he maybe wasn’t in touch with anybody.

Doreen and Gabby nearly cried when Wanda told them that she and Peter wanted to help with their Black Bloc actions. Doreen went so far as to climb across the wooden table to hug them both, and it was a testament to the culture of Sister Marg’s that their fellow patrons just sort of shifted to make room for her. Gabby kept repeating that they didn’t have to, that it was okay not to, that it was dangerous and there were other legit social actions they could take, but – it very clearly meant a lot to them. It made Peter even more determined, in spite of the fear that was threatening to asphyxiate him.

Then, of course, the conversation moved to unfortunate territory.

“So are you two broken up?”

Gabby elbowed Doreen, who gave her a hurt look. Peter felt Wanda shift next to him.

“I don’t know,” Peter said into his cherry cola. “We hadn’t talked about what we were, so—“

“You’ll hear from him,” Doreen reassured, clearly trying to make up for her tactless question.

Peter tried to smile. Her absolute lack of social finesse was maybe Peter’s favorite thing about Doreen, and he didn’t want her to feel bad.

They agreed to be in touch about their next group action, which was evidently coming up soon. These things didn’t happen over the internet or on social media, as it turned out – word of mouth was how Black Bloc stayed under the radar, at least as much as they could. The four of them exchanged big hugs, and both Doreen and Gabby told Peter to please call them if he needed to talk. It was implied that he should also let them know the second he heard from Wade.

Goddamn Wade. These two wonderful women cared about his reckless ass, and he was off kidnapping CEOs or stealing the Declaration of Independence or some shit and letting them worry about him.

“Do you want to have a sleepover?” Wanda asked when they got to her train stop. Peter gave her a kiss on the cheek and told her he’d see her tomorrow night at the #BLM meeting.

*~*~*

It was weird to be taking pictures at the meeting instead of helping hand out flyers or getting the info of the new people who showed up. But everyone was sweet and either smiled or did their best to pretend he wasn’t there if that’s what he asked them to do. Peter felt like he’d gotten some really good stuff by the time the formal meeting had ended and everyone was chatting and having snacks. He was going to sneak out so that he could get the pictures uploaded and edited to go on their social media that night, but then he saw Preston.

Preston. If anybody knew if Wade was alive or dead or in an Interpol prison, it would be her.

“Hey.”

“Hey,” she said, turning to him as if she’d been hoping to talk to him. “So you haven’t heard from Wade in a while?”

Peter blinked. He’d been fully prepared to make small talk about the pictures he’d taken and segue into Wade, but either she’d heard from Gabby and Doreen or she could just see it on his face.

“Not since week before last,” he said.

Preston shook her head. “I’m so sorry about him, this is what he does, he’s such a fucking pain in the ass.”

“You’ve heard from him, though,” Peter said, hopefully. “I mean, he lets you know where he is, right?”

“Ha! You’d think,” Preston smiled, grimly. “No, he just goes on radio-silence sometimes. Scares us to death. I can mostly cover it with the kids, but they’re smart, you know? They can figure shit out.”

Peter felt like his ribcage was going to shatter from the sheer force of his rage. “Why does he do this?”

Preston shook her head, suddenly looking sad. “He hates himself, he gets all morose over how he’s a bad father and a bad person, blah blah blah. But I’m sorry he’s dragged you into it. He’s just really, really not good at this, you know?”

“At relationships?” Peter asked, his insides twisting.

“At being loved,” Preston clarified. “He’s just terrible at it. It’s a skill, you know?”

 _He needs someone who loves him,_ Shiklah said in Peter’s head.

Preston promised that she’d let Peter know the moment she heard anything from Wade, and Peter promised her the same. She actually gave him a side-hug. He hated the fact that she’d gone out of her way to comfort him when she was the one having to explain to an eight year old why her father hadn’t bothered to see or talk to her for over a week.

By the time he got back to his place, Peter was shaking with anger. He made himself focus on sorting through the pictures he’d taken and posting the best ones on their social sites. It was getting late, but he decided to go ahead and type up a press release and send it to a few media outlets along with the pictures. On a whim, he sent it to Betty and asked how wedding-plans were going and if she wanted to have a drink soon.

It was 1am by the time he’d run out of things to do. He would be miserable in the morning, but he was miserable anyway these days. With a deep breath, he pulled out his phone and looked at his message history with Wade.

There was the exchange where he’d made sure they were still on for dinner, the night May had come over with dessert. He accidentally scrolled up further to see Wade letting him know he was back in town the last time, where Wade had called him “little Daddy.”

Peter gripped the phone so hard he thought he heard the case squeak, and he quickly scrolled back down to their most recent messages. He hadn’t texted Wade for a whole day after their big talk. He’d told himself it was because Wade needed space, but the truth was Peter had needed space. He’d gone from feeling like he knew so much about Wade to feeling like he knew nothing in such a short time, and it had made all of his walls shoot right up.

But the next day, he’d texted and asked Wade if he was okay. And Wade hadn’t answered. That had been well over a week ago. If Wade didn’t want to see or talk to him anymore, fine – this was a shitty way to do it, but that was fine. It was not fine for him to worry his roommates and his best friend and his little girl like this.

Peter dashed off a text before he could talk himself out of it:

_You need to let someone know if you’re okay_

After a moment of reflection he added, in all caps, _NOW._

He pressed send, threw his phone on the table next to his laptop, and curled up on his futon to try to get at least a little sleep.

*~*~*

“Hey.”

Peter stirred. There was a voice, but his half-asleep brain told him it was okay. Then he blinked open his eyes and saw a large outline close to him. He jumped and cried out before realizing who it was.

“Hey, it’s me,” Wade said, hands gently holding his shoulders. “Sorry.”

He looked – bad. Exhausted. Peter could see purple bags under his eyes even in the dark apartment. But he was alive. He looked sort of scared, sort of sad, but he gave Peter a weak version of his lopsided smile.

Peter wanted to absolutely lose his shit. He wanted to yell and scream, to tell Wade to get the hell out of his apartment, to go tell Doreen and Gabby and Preston and Ellie and Shane and Jeff and Shiklah and hell even Weasel that his stupid ass was okay, to tell him he never wanted to speak to him again.

Instead, Peter wrapped his arms around Wade and held him so tightly that it hurt and started sobbing into his neck. He felt Wade’s torso kind of collapse and big, warm arms go around his back.

“I’m so sorry,” he barely heard Wade say. “I shouldn’t have. I’m sorry.”

“Why?” Peter managed, hating the sound of his own wrecked voice.

He felt Wade shake his head. He thought he felt Wade’s shoulders tremble, or maybe that was just because Peter had a death grip on him.

“I love you,” Peter sobbed. It just came out. “I love you so, so much.”

Wade’s arms somehow wrapped further around him, and he felt Wade’s face tuck into his neck. He couldn’t feel tears, but he could feel Wade’s breath, hot and warm. Alive, alive, alive.

“Where have you been?” Peter asked when he’d pulled himself together. “What have you been doing?”

“Oh, you know,” Wade said, a familiar sarcastic twist in his tone, “torturing and murdering people, creating chaos, the usual.”

“Stop it,” Peter shot back. “You don’t get to suddenly walk out of this apartment and not speak to anybody for more than a fucking week and then act like that.” He realized he’d been absently feeling Wade’s arms and chest for injuries. He remembered the first time he’d had the impulse to do that, when they’d been in a jail cell together, after Wade had been kicked around by cops.

“I got the impression I wasn’t wanted,” Wade said, watching as Peter’s hands moved down his arms.

Peter’s hands froze. “The hell is that supposed to mean?”

Wade looked up at him, those blue eyes shooting right into the center of him, just like the first time they’d seen each other. “You should have seen the way you looked at me.”

“How did I look at you?” Peter asked. He meant it as a challenge, but he felt dread settle in his stomach.

Wade shook his head. He looked down. “Like I was some stranger in your house, like you were afraid of me,” he said. “Like good people look at criminals, I guess.”

Peter wanted to throw up. “That’s not fucking fair,” he said after a moment. “That was a lot of shit for me to process, and instead of letting me, you just walk about? And you don’t talk to me, and you don’t even let your daughter know you’re okay?”

Wade’s eyes flashed, and for a thrilling moment Peter thought he might have crossed a line, that maybe Wade would lash out. But he didn’t – he took a deep breath. “Well, that’s why I came back, so that, now you’ve had a chance to process, you can break up with me properly.”

Peter resisted the urge to slap him across the face. “I don’t want to break up with you,” he said, holding Wade’s hands instead of slapping him. “I want to talk about this. I want to know why you think this is an okay way to make money.”

“How is terrorizing fascists and rapists not an okay way to make money?” Wade asked, pulling his hands away.

“Because you’re doing it for money, Wade,” Peter replied, trying not to yell. “That’s a conflict of interest – how do you know you’re even targeting people who deserve to get, whatever it is you do to them?”

“Um, they’re rich assholes?” Wade snarked. “You used to agree with me about this shit. What about Queen Amidala? What about white cis men changing the bullshit system that benefits us?”

Peter almost reminded Wade that he wasn’t cis, and that Peter had looked it up and it sounded like he was gender-fluid or even a “demiboy,” but now was not the moment.

“I do agree with that, but I just –“ Peter sucked in a breath, struggling for words. “Violence doesn’t do anybody any good. Nothing good can come from what you’re doing.”

“I think you’ll find,” Wade said, visibly bristling, “that violence has, historically, done a whole hell of a lot of good for a lot of somebodies, and quite a goddamn bit of good continually comes from the work I do—“

“You could get hurt or arrested or killed.”

Wade barked out a short, bitter laugh. “Not likely – I’m really good at it.”

“Is that why you do it?” Peter asked, his stomach turning. “Because you’re good at it? You like it?”

“Well I’m not good at much else.”

“Bullshit,” Peter said, resisting the urge to grab Wade’s hands again. “You’re smart and people listen to you and you help people, and you’re a good dad – what about Ellie? What’s her life like if you get sent to prison or killed?”

“Ellie’s life without me is growing up with her adorable family and being happy,” Wade said, as if it was obvious. “Pete, if there’s anybody who’s expendable it’s me – aren’t I allowed to do some good with that if I can?”

It felt like all the bones in Peter’s chest had shattered at once. “Why--how can you think that?”

 _I just told you I love you_ , Peter wanted to say, but he’d noticed that Wade hadn’t returned the sentiment. Now Wade was wearing one of those expressions he couldn’t read. They were quiet for a long moment, just staring at each other, like a big impassable gulf was between them.

“So, another fun fact about me that I haven’t shared yet,” Wade said, clearing his throat, “I have cancer.”

The air left Peter’s lungs. He couldn’t keep himself from taking hold of Wade’s hands.

“I’ve been in remission for years,” Wade said, calmly, “but – I mean, that could change.”

Peter kept his hold on Wade’s hands. He rubbed his thumb over the back of one, feeling the textured skin.

 “So while I really do think that fucking up the one-percent is a great way to earn a living,” Wade went on, “it’s also kind of necessary for covering my medical expenses. If this goddamn country ever decides that people should have life-saving medical care because they need it and not because they can pay for it, then—“

 “I have health insurance,” Peter said, abruptly. “If that’s what you’re worried about, then let’s – let’s get married.”

Peter had thought that having lots of really weird sex with Wade had broken him of the habit of saying super awkward things to him. Evidently not.

Wade drew back like he’d slapped him. Peter tried desperately to come up with something to say to cover, but – he meant it. He’d proposed, and he meant it. He felt elated and also like a great big pillow was smothering him.

And then Wade stood up, picked up his bag that Peter hadn’t even noticed, and headed towards the door.

Shit.

“What?” he tried.

“I’ll call you,” Wade said, not turning around. His voice sounded hollow, dead.

Peter stood up. “Wade, I swear to god, if you disappear for another week and don’t talk to anyone—“

“I won’t,” he said, undoing the complex system of locks he’d installed on Peter’s door. “I promise, I just – haven’t slept in a while, and I should sleep. Let me sleep some, and I’ll call you. Okay?”

He gave Peter a kind of furtive look, like he needed permission. Peter nodded. Wade opened the door and left without reminding him to lock up.

Peter stood alone in his apartment, listening to Wade’s retreating footsteps, for the second time in a goddamn fortnight. He was too angry to cry, too angry to sleep. He started rage-cleaning. He was scrubbing the bathroom tiles by the time the sun started peaking through his blinds, and he was suddenly so tired that he just sat in his tub for a while, until the early morning chill seeping through his t-shirt and boxers was too uncomfortable.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Judy singing The Man That Got Away: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=G0OpD29vKLk
> 
> School has started back, so I'll be on a more regular schedule, and I promise I'll be better about answering comments here and on tumblr!
> 
> Speaking of, why not give me a tumbl? *giggles* crockzilla.tumblr.com


	12. You Like to See Me Cryin' (I Don't Know Why)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Have I told you about my wonderful beta, QQI25? Did you know they've written some adorable fic recently?

For a movement that was supposed to be about fighting racism and misogyny, there sure seemed to be a lot of white boys with anger issues involved in Black Bloc.

Peter grew increasingly more depressed with each video he found of some fuckboy-looking dudes awkwardly picking a fight with other fuckboy-looking dudes at political rallies. He supposed he should not have been surprised that some white male assholes would use social action as an excuse to make themselves feel powerful, but – sigh. He wondered if he was just about to add another white boy with anger issues to the problem rather than help fix it.

“This will not be like that,” Gabby assured when he brought up his concern to her. “Our affinity group has lots of lady leadership and queer people and brown people, and we’re just showing up to scare the Nazis away.”

Affinity group. Peter liked that.

“So, Wade came to see you last night, huh?”

Peter looked away from Gabby’s sweet face and down into his soda.

“We don’t have to talk about it,” she said, tapping the table in front of him in a comforting manner.

“Did he say anything when he got home?” Peter asked, afraid to hear the answer.

“No,” Gabby said. “Dee and I were asleep. When I left he was still snoring away, probably will be for a while. It’s pretty normal.”

Gabby gave him a small, sweet smile. The scars down either side of her face made Peter’s chest ache. He would never, ever ask her about them – they were just a constant reminder that there was a lot about her he didn’t know. Gabby had lived through some serious shit and could still make everyone around her feel happy and safe.

“How did you and Doreen get together?” Peter asked.

Gabby’s whole face lit up, and she seemed to grow an inch. “Oh, it’s silly! For real?”

Peter laughed and nodded. Gabby launched into a delightfully complicated story about a student protest group at NYU and fighting Nazis and nanny-ing gigs. Of course. They both had to leave to get back to work entirely too soon.

“A whole soda,” Weasel snarked as he rang up Peter’s tab. “Do you enjoy humiliating me, Parker?”

“You want me to get loaded before I go tutor middle-schoolers?” Peter asked.

“Yes,” Weasel said, looking even more disappointed than before. “Whatever, I made you a thing.”

Weasel placed a small, light, black object on the bar and pushed it towards him. Peter picked it up, gingerly, and saw that it had loops on either side. “Is this a--?”

“It’s just a basic N95 respirator that I spruced up,” Weasel shrugged. “To celebrate your first big deal Antifa action. Also this.”

Weasel handed him a small black flag that said “No Hate” in embroidered white letters.

“Thanks,” Peter said, genuinely touched.

Weasel waved him off. “Maybe buy an actual beverage next time you’re in.”

Peter loved his little black flag and wanted very much to affix it to his outfit somehow. And he appreciated the gasmask, even though it also scared the living shit out of him. He’d read that Black Bloc actors should always be prepared for the police to douse them with pepper-spray or tear gas, but he thought that meant mentally prepared. Not gasmask prepared.

When he got to Brooklyn Visions even earlier than usual and checked in at the office, he was told that Dr. Marconi and Dr. Conners wanted to talk to him. Peter shoved down the ridiculous fear that they had somehow found out that he was involved with an anarchist Antifa group and had called the FBI.

“So you’ve been leading kind of an impromptu support group for LGBTQ kids?” Dr. Marconi asked once they were seated in the teacher’s lounge.

Shit. “Well, not leading, I mean,” Peter floundered, “you know, they just come talk to me because I’m there and they don’t have a lot of people they can talk to about – stuff like that.”

“Would you be interested,” Dr. Conners asked, “in making it a more formal thing?”

Peter blinked.

“We know you’re very busy,” Dr. Marconi said, quickly. “We hate to even ask when you’re already giving up your free time –“

“I would, sure,” Peter continued to flounder. “Like, um – like a club or something?”

“Student group!” Dr. Conners said, looking relieved. “Like a student group, something that meets maybe once a week or every other week.”

“It’s like teaching but without getting paid,” Dr. Marconi said, wryly. “Curt and I both do it – I have my girl scientists, and he has his differently-abled kids.”

“It’s great fun,” Dr. Conners said, gesturing at his left arm which ended just below his shoulder and which Peter usually made a point not to look at. “And we really need some LGBTQ mentorship around here.”

Peter thanked Anna-Maria and Curt (which they insisted he call them) and agreed to be in touch about a weekly time that worked for him. As he walked to the train, he began to wonder what exactly he thought he knew about leading a student group. Did he think he was some kind of model gay? No. No, he was certainly not that. Doreen and Gabby – now there were some model gays. They should be mentoring kids. Peter should only mentor kids who wanted to grow up to be neurotic and miserable and unable to communicate without awkwardly yelling out marriage proposals.

As he road home, Peter forced himself to look at his phone. Wade had called him while he’d been at Sister Marg’s with Gabby. He’d known it, somehow, even though he’d refused to check. He put off calling Wade back until he got to his apartment, and even then he found a few things to clean and straighten. He took his time dithering about a place to sit or stand for this conversation, finally landing on the futon.

As he swiped Wade’s number, he realized they’d never actually talked on the phone before, only texted. They had mostly talked in person. Why was Wade insisting on the phone now? Peter felt panic pressing the walls of his throat together as he waited for Wade to pick up.

“Hey,” came the deep, rough voice that made Peter’s insides jangle.

“Hey,” Peter said, clearing his throat. “Did you get some sleep?”

“Yeah,” Wade said. “Did you?”

“Well, no,” Peter said, somewhat archly. “I rage-cleaned until it was time to go to work.”

He heard Wade sigh and wished he could see his face. “Maybe we should do this later,” Wade suggested, “if you’re tired.”

“What are we doing?” Peter asked, throat tightening again.

There was a pause. “I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” Wade said. “Or – hang out, whatever it was we were doing.”

The wail of grief that welled in Peter’s chest was cut off by his trusty temper. “I am in love with you, Wade,” he said, sharply. “I asked you to marry me.”

Wade barked a short laugh. “For health insurance. Very romantic.”

“You told me you have cancer!” Peter reminded, his voice breaking with exasperation. “Once again, you cannot drop bombs on me like that and then get mad at my reaction.”

“So you didn’t mean it?”

Peter reeled. Wade sounded – bitter? Hurt?

“I did mean it,” Peter said, feeling his eyes smart with tears. Goddamnit, not again. “I love you. I want to be with you.”

“But not if I’m a mercenary?”

The question hung between them for a long moment. “That’s not fair,” Peter said.

“Look, I think it proves my point about our age difference,” Wade said, shortly. “The fact that you think marriage is a solution to the shit between us—“

“I didn’t say it was a solution, you asshole,” Peter shot back. “Where do you get off calling me immature when your solution to a fight was to go on radio silence for ten goddamn days and let everyone think you were bleeding out somewhere?”

He heard Wade sigh again.

“I’m sorry I called you an asshole,” Peter said. “I want to talk about this in person.”

“Don’t apologize for calling someone an asshole when they’re being an asshole,” Wade said, sounding drained. “I gotta go.”

The heart-flutters he’d felt from Wade sounding even a little vulnerable were obliterated by a great big anger spike. Good.

“Fine,” he said, pressing the red end-call button. He wished snap-phones were still a thing, or even old landline phones – physically hanging-up on Wade would have felt so much better.

Less than five minutes later, he was weeping into his ramen and fighting the urge to call back.

*~*~*

“So the wedding is off.”

Peter nearly spat out his coffee in dismay, but Betty was smiling, mischievously. “We’re still in love and probably still getting married,” she clarified, “but we decided we’re not wedding people.”

“Oh,” Peter said, trying to cover his surprise. “What, uh – what inspired that?”

“Well, you, kind of,” she said, grinning when his eyes went wide. “Just, all the awesome photos you sent of your social action group, and all the stuff on you guys’ Facebook page—“

Peter had one-hundred-percent forgotten that he’d invited everyone he knew to follow their pages when he’d first joined Emma’s and Preston’s groups. He hadn’t even followed up to see who had responded.

“I just started thinking about all the money,” Betty shook her head, ruefully, “all the time we were spending on wedding things. I mean, who is that for? Why is that --? I don’t know, I just brought it up to Ned, and he said he knew what I meant, and now instead of spending thousands of dollars on a venue we want to donate it to people who need it.”

“That’s,” Peter grasped, a bit floored, “that’s amazing. Are you— will you still get to, like, have a honeymoon?”

 “Meh,” Betty shrugged. “We’ll take trips together our whole lives, hopefully. You know, when we can.”

“You were excited, though,” Peter couldn’t help saying.

“I was,” Betty smiled her pretty smile again. “But it was also stressful. And – I don’t know, I just can’t spend that kind of money when there are people who could use it. The thing I want out of getting married is Ned, and I’ve got him.”

Peter reached across the table and briefly squeezed her hand, and Betty squeezed back. He wished he’d understood how gay he was when they were in high school so that he could have saved them all that awkward dating and gone straight to being extra good friends. They spent the rest of their coffee time talking about different organizations in the city where Betty could donate her wedding budget, and landed on an education center for at-risk kids that Peter remembered hearing Preston talk about.

Once he was alone on the way to the lab, Peter’s thoughts went immediately to Wade. He hated himself for it – could he seriously not focus his attention elsewhere? For an hour? For a few minutes? But then he hadn’t really stopped thinking of Wade since the moment he saw him, since before he even knew anything about him.

He wanted badly to call Wade and tell him about Betty’s awesomely anti-capitalist decision. Wade would be so excited and launch into a rant about wealth and Americans and about how there would be no poverty if people stopped spending money on stupid shit like weddings. Maybe talking easily, like they had those first couple of dates, maybe that would help heal whatever the fuck this rift was between them.

He didn’t call on his way to the lab, and he didn’t call after his shift as he headed home to meet Wanda.

*~*~*

“So I know we’re not supposed to have our phones,” Wanda fretted, “but what do we do if we get arrested?”

The “arrested” word made Peter’s stomach jump a little. “I’m sure they have jail support, right?” he said. “Like any other protest?”

“But how does that work if we’re all anonymous?” Wanda asked. Peter had no answer. Part of his brain was also screaming that he’d been arrested before, and what would happen if he was arrested again? Surely he would not escape strip-searching this time.

“We’re gonna be in the green zone,” he reminded. “So we’re not even fighting Nazis, just making part of the mass.”

“Right,” Wanda said, relieved. Neither of them brought up the fact that Doreen had reminded them repeatedly to be ready for absolutely any eventuality.

“I feel like not covering our eyes is dumb,” Peter said as he zipped his black hoodie up to his chin and pulled the drawstrings. “I mean, we might as well just stay in our regular clothes and put on some glasses and call ourselves Clark Kent.”

“I can’t take your Grumpy Face seriously when you’ve got that on,” Wanda said. Peter glared, which made her laugh so hard she had to sit down on the futon.

“I’m just saying,” Peter groused, pushing off his super-intimidating hood, “that if we really want to conceal our identities, we should wear goggles or something.”

“That’s not a bad idea,” Wanda agreed as she laced up her black combat boots. “Like ski goggles? Something that’s tinted but not loose like sunglasses?”

“Yeah!” Peter said, deflating when he realized that would mean finding and buying ski goggles. “This is getting expensive, huh?”

“We’ll just have to keep doing it,” Wanda said, bouncing on her heels experimentally, “so our outfits are worth the investment.”

If we survive this first one, both of them thought but neither of them said out loud. Peter watched as Wanda pulled her black bandana up over her nose and her black hood over her head. Even with her eyes exposed, she looked – well, the only word for it was badass.

“Yeah?” she said, turning a little.

“I would not fuck with you if I was a Nazi,” Peter complimented.

“Yay,” Wanda laughed. “And I’m sure with the goggles, you will look equally terrifying.”

Peter gently shoved her, which just made her laugh harder. Black Bloc action sure was fun so far.

But the next day, as he ducked into every thrift store he could find between his place and the Stark Tech building looking for ski goggles, Peter just felt an unshakeable nausea. It wasn’t like he hadn’t been regularly participating in rallies and protests for months now, so what was his deal? Yes, this was different, but it wasn’t much different from walking into the street to sit down and get arrested. In fact, the likelihood of his being fucked with was much lower this time – he was just helping to make the mass, to show the Alt-Right that there were people who would stand up to them.

He finally found goggles that weren’t too expensive. Part of him worried about whether cheap, used goggles would actually keep chemical particulates from getting into his eyes and trapped behind his contact lenses (which was a thing that happened, he’d read). He brushed that thought aside, bought the goggles, and stuffed them into his bag where his little Black Bloc flag and his custom respirator were hidden. He needed to figure out how to incorporate them into his ensemble. The respirator – the gasmask – still sent a jolt of fear through him every time he saw it.

Peter felt disgusted with himself for the rest of the day. Had he lost his fight? He’d been nervous as hell about the protest where he knew he would get arrested, but he’d also been – excited, fired up, filled with a sense of purpose. Why wasn’t he feeling that now? Where was his anger at Power and all the horrible shit it did to people? Had being actually happy for a few months made him soft?

The shoot at Stark Tech was easy and painless. Wanda’s boss, Maria, was super nice to him, as always, and thanked him for being there. As Peter left the building, he felt an alarming urge to knock over the huge, expensive-looking glass sculpture that sat in the middle of the main lobby.

Peter was shocked that he slept well that night. Maybe his body knew that he’d need his energy the next day and helped him out. He woke up with the sun, in time to actually eat breakfast before heading to meet Doreen and Gabby and Wanda.

“Are we seriously changing into our costumes in an alley?”

Doreen and Gabby laughed merrily at him as they expertly pulled on their black outfits over their civilian clothes.

“Would you prefer a phone booth, perhaps?” Doreen quipped.

“Goggles were a really good idea,” Wanda complimented as she adjusted Peter’s hood for him. She looked even more badass than she had at their little dress rehearsal, and from what he could see of himself reflected in her dark lenses, Peter did not look un-badass himself.

Peter and Wanda and Doreen and Gabby moved down the street to join a mass of bodies wearing black, all moving towards the site where the Alt Right rally was supposed to take place. It was eerie, Peter thought – all of them gathering together, dressed alike, not really acknowledging each other but acting like one big entity. It was eerie but it was also kind of intoxicating. Peter felt invulnerable, which made part of his brain scream because it knew that no matter how he felt he was very vulnerable indeed.

The first part was similar to any other protest or rally that Peter had been involved in: they moved together, steadily but not slowly, making sure they were seen. Some people carried flags, and Peter thought of the one Weasel had made him which he’d elected to leave at home. Was Weasel here? How many of his casual acquaintances from Sister Margaret’s were around him, bodies and faces covered in black? It made his feeling of kinship with the mass increase as they walked together while several people shouted about “No Hate” and Nazis being unwelcome in Queens.

Peter had kept track of Wanda so far, which was a trick because the black outfits really did their job of making everyone look indistinguishable. He thought he knew where Gabby and Doreen were, too, and he knew he shouldn’t call out or do anything to attract the attention of the police or spies who might have infiltrated their group. He marched on with Wanda, telling himself that the other women knew what they were doing.

And then everyone in front of them stopped. Word was passed that the police were trying to “kettle” them, which was a phrase Peter knew from his internet research. Sure enough, soon the command came (Peter didn’t know from where) to “keep moving,” and the mass turned almost in unison to move back down the street. The black mass flocked like birds, moving quickly down side streets, coming back towards the spot where the rally was taking place.

Peter let his body respond to the shouts to “stay together” and “tighten up.” But he’d lost track of Wanda almost as soon as they’d turned around. He’d been so focused on moving and he’d assumed she was right behind him. He fought back panic and kept his eyes on his fellow Black Bloc-ers, trying to keep up with them so that he wouldn’t be a straggler and get “snatched” by the cops. He imagined Wanda getting shoved into a police van and tasted bile in his mouth.

He thought the group he was with had almost made it back to the rally site when one of the figures in black said “disperse.” Peter knew what that meant – either their effort had worked and the Nazis had decided to go home or the police presence had gotten too aggressive, and everyone was supposed to remove their blacks and walk away as casually as possible. The others he’d been with started moving away down side streets. One of them briefly checked in with Peter before they left – was it that obvious he was new, even with his badass goggles?

The moment he’d shucked off his black outer clothing, Peter began to shake. He was not sure where the hell he was supposed to leave his clothes, so he just stuffed them behind a dumpster and made a mental note to come back later. He couldn’t hear sirens, but that didn’t mean the police weren’t around, or that Alt Righters weren’t waiting around every corner to jump him. He scanned the street for Wanda as he walked, but he couldn’t even tell who’d been part of the action anymore. Their methods really were effective.

 He was still shaking when he got to his building and ran up the stairs as quickly as possible. Wanda would text him when she got home to her own phone, and he’d know she was safe.

When he got to his floor, Wade was standing outside of his apartment.

“She’s fine,” Wade said, as if reading his mind. “Wanda’s with Gabby and Doreen, they’re all fine.”

Peter collapsed forward, his lungs burning. Wade caught him by the forearms, and for a moment they were very close to each other.

“Were you there?” Peter asked.

“No,” Wade said, eyes hardening. “I didn’t know about the action until Doreen texted me to see if I knew if you were all right.”

Peter stared at him a moment, still catching his breath. Wade looked like he was barely holding back a tirade.

“You don’t even bother to break in now?” Peter asked as he let them into his apartment.

“I was trying to be polite,” Wade said, irritably. “Also, I forgot how one of the locks works.”

Peter barely kept himself from laughing. He quickly found his phone on the coffee table and sent a text back to Wanda to let her know he was home safe.

“So you do this shit now?”

Peter turned around. Wade was standing close to the door, looking torn between feeling awkward and enraged.

“I’m fine,” he said. “It wasn’t scary, at least not where I was.”

“You know people get hurt at these things?” Wade continued, seemingly unable to stop himself. “And you’ve got a record now – what if you got arrested?”

“Do you hear yourself?” Peter asked, hands on his hips.

Wade took a deep breath, staring him down. Peter stared right back. “I know,” Wade said in a controlled voice, “that if I asked you if this whole Black Bloc thing was about me, you would tell me to fuck myself.”

This time Peter laughed out loud. “You’re goddamn right, I would.”

“You are tiny,” Wade said, fisting his hands as if he wanted to reach out and grab Peter. “You are small, and yes you have a temper and yes it’s kind of terrifying but it’s not going to stop a cop or a Nazi from beating the shit out of you or tear gas—“

“Wanda and I,” Peter cut him off, “decided to do this together. It has nothing to do with you, and it’s none of your business, and you can shove it up your ass.”

Wade’s eyes went wide. He looked like he was trying to say three things at once. “You make me so mad!” he finally shouted.

“Good!” Peter shot back without thinking.

There was a pause, the air lifted, and then Wade lunged forward and grabbed him. It should have been scary, but everything inside of Peter shrieked with joy. Wade was kissing him hard, and Peter artlessly shoved his tongue into Wade’s mouth, trying to touch all of him at once. Wade’s hand groped his ass, and Peter arched back against him. He felt Wade’s other hand pull at his zipper and let go of one side of Wade’s face to help.

“Bathroom drawer,” he said, shoving down his jeans as Wade darted to the bathroom. He returned seconds later with the lube, just as Peter was kicking off his underwear. It was a good thing he’d worked fast, because Wade grabbed him and lifted him right off the ground.

Peter wrapped his legs around Wade’s waist, but he didn’t need to – Wade was so fucking strong, one arm around his waist and one cupping his ass as he kissed him again. Before Peter registered they were moving, he felt his back connect with the wall. It didn’t hurt, but he felt it.

Wade broke away from his mouth and clamped down on the join of his neck and shoulder, biting and sucking hard. Peter moaned, clutching at Wade’s back. He reached up and felt for the weird pipe that stuck out of his wall, finding it and wrapping his hand around it, praying that it wouldn’t rip out.

Then he felt Wade’s fingers against his naked ass. They were slick – how the fuck had Wade managed to get lube on them while also holding him against a wall? He stopped caring when he felt one fingertip prodding at his asshole as Wade continued sucking a bruise on his neck. He must have gasped because the delicious sucking stopped.

“Is this okay?” Wade asked, mouth against his ear.

Peter nodded, and Wade’s finger kept working its way inside of him. The initial shock and self-consciousness quickly melted away – Wade was touching him, Wade wanted him, Wade was going to fuck him. Peter gripped the pipe and tried to maneuver himself to get some friction, but Wade kept slowly and carefully working him open, kissing and biting his face and neck. He was pinned against the wall, helpless.

“Wade, fuck me already!”

He had not meant to say that out loud, but he had, and he was pretty sure he heard Wade growl before he felt two fingers shoved inside of him. Peter cried out, and holy hell did it burn, but it was good. He needed more. He leaned his head back against the wall and whined as prettily as he could, and it must have worked because the fingers pulled out of him and he felt Wade’s hand fumble with his own zipper.

The feeling of Wade’s cock at his asshole was downright terrifying. He almost apologized and asked for more prep, but then Wade thrust up into him and it was too late. Peter buried his face in Wade’s neck, fingers digging into his back. Wade stayed still, and the buzzing in Peter’s head from the pressure started to die down. He rocked his hips, and he thought he heard Wade growl again before he started thrusting.

He was not gentle – Peter’s teeth knocked against each other before he let himself go loose, just a piece of meat for Wade to fuck. He was so aroused he thought he might die, might be able to come just from this, from Wade pumping up into him, impaling him on his cock.

He felt Wade stutter and his body go rigid, and he was relieved and also devastated that it was over. Wade dug his face into Peter’s neck as he came. When he’d finished, he carried Peter over to the futon, laying him down. Peter was mildly concerned that he was dripping spooge all over the floor when he felt Wade’s tongue at his hole, lapping at him. He wrapped his own hand around his dick and started thrusting wildly – he was so close, and he felt Wade’s big hand go around his while Wade’s lips and tongue cleaned cum out of his asshole, and that did it. He came all over both of them and the futon.

“We should have put a tarp down,” he murmured as Wade pulled the lever that laid the futon back. Wade didn’t say anything, just hummed in agreement as he pushed Peter onto his side and spooned up against his back.

“I like it better when you’re in charge,” Wade said after a moment.

Peter turned his head a little. “How was I not in charge of that?”

He felt Wade laugh softly and wrap an arm around his waist. Peter closed his eyes and breathed easily for a while.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Judy singing Mean to Me, the song from whence the title of this chapter is taken: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=2hok_qJNcos&start_radio=1&list=RD2hok_qJNcos
> 
> TWO more chapters and then the epilogue, ya'll!!! We're almost to the fluffy happies, I swear!
> 
> Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	13. How Deep is the Ocean

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Blessings on my wonderful beta, QQI25, who takes time out of their busy scholarly schedule to correct my typos! <333
> 
> I'm putting the song link early because you'll want to have it queued up to listen to at the appropriate moment: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MLfpsR7YYSA
> 
> Also: I am aware that there are some skinheads who are, in fact, the exact opposite of Neo-Nazis, and I tried to make the distinction. Please don't think I am calling all skinheads Neo-Nazis (PUNK ROCK 5EVER)

If they fell asleep, it couldn’t have been for long. The mid-morning sun was still coming through Peter’s windows. It fell on Wade’s hand, wrapped around his waist. Peter took it in his own, rubbing his thumb over the scarred skin, enjoying the feeling of Wade’s big, warm body spooned up against him.

“Are you hungry?” came a wiry voice over his shoulder.

“I have a shoot,” Peter said, sitting up. “I need a shower. Do you want one?”

Wade shook his head. Peter had somehow forgotten how incredibly pretty his eyes were. He showered quickly and changed in the bathroom – he wasn’t sure if he was afraid they’d go for another round if Wade saw him naked or if he was just feeling weirdly vulnerable.

When he came out of the bathroom, Wade had cleaned up all of their genetic material and set the futon back into couch mode.

“Are you okay?” he asked, blue eyes all full of concern.

Peter shrugged. He’d noticed a little blood in the shower, but that was to be expected given how long it had been since he’d had that particular kind of sex. “Worth it,” he said.

Wade smiled that small, half-smile. Peter could not help but lean in and kiss him.

“What are you doing later?” Wade asked.

Peter thought of coming home to Wade cooking, eating something yummy and then having more sex. Then he remembered.

“The sock hop!” he said, hands to his head. “Shit -- I’m chaperoning a sock hop at Brooklyn Visions. My tutoring kids asked me to.”

The half-smile didn’t go away, but Wade’s expression closed off a little. “Sounds like a wild time. Have fun.”

“You’re invited,” Peter said before he could stop himself.

Wade looked at the counter for a long moment. Peter felt familiar disappointment creep through his veins – it had been nice to feel something else for a while.

“I’m sorry I can’t leave you alone,” Wade said, finally. “I should.”

Peter stared at him. There was so much he wanted to say. They understood each other so well and so shittily all at the same time. He put his hand over Wade’s.

“I don’t want you to leave me alone.”

He left Wade in his apartment, hoping that somehow it would make him stay there until Peter came home.

*~*~*

Wanda was at the shoot. Peter went straight to her and threw his arms around her, and she did the same. They just held each other tightly for a while, right there in the middle of the Stark Tech demo room.

“You guys okay?”

Peter started and felt Wanda do the same. Steve Rogers, Chief Mugwump of Design or something, was standing close to them looking sheepish about accidentally breaking up their hug.

“We’re fine,” Wanda said. “We had an emotional brunch earlier.”

Steve nodded as if that was a reasonable answer, looking handsomely awkward. He reminded Peter of a cartoon lion-tamer from somewhere in his childhood that he couldn’t quite pinpoint.

“Hey, Science Guy!” Tony Stark greeted, popping up next to Steve holding the new gizmo Peter was here to take pictures of. “Has Studly McGood-Hair here told you about this thing? It’s pretty neat—“

Steve’s expression of tired annoyance as Tony explained the gizmo to Peter made Peter feel for some reason like they were both all right people, despite being disgustingly rich. He tried to pay attention and look interested, but he was not. All he could think of was whether Tony and Steve were the kind of people who Wade would get paid to – steal from. Blackmail. Kidnap. Hurt.

And why shouldn’t he, wondered a part of Peter’s brain as he took pictures of the two men holding their new technology. This thing was just going to make them even more money, make them even more successful. Meanwhile, people like May had to worry about whether or not they could pay rent. People like Wanda and Gabby and Doreen had to march with their faces covered to stand up to Nazis. Little kids went to bed hungry.

“Who’s in charge of, like, corporate ethics?” Peter asked Wanda once the shoot was finished and they were alone.

“I’m not totally sure,” Wanda said, chewing her sandwich. “I can ask Rhodey – why?”

Peter shrugged, putting his own sandwich back in its wrapper (paper, thank goodness). “I just want to do some more research about, like – sustainability, charity, things like that.”

Wanda nodded, thoughtfully. The two of them spent the rest of lunch debriefing their Black Bloc experience and debating the relative benefits of corporate charity.

Peter went straight to his shift at the lab, which went a bit later than he’d expected. When he finally got home, he just had enough time to get ready for the Sock Hop. Wade was not sitting on his futon when he opened his door, which should not have surprised him, let alone hurt him.

*~*~*

“Smile!”

Peter tried not to look awkward as May took multiple pictures of him with Ben’s old fancy camera. “Did I not go to prom or anything in high school?”

“If you did, you didn’t tell us about it,” May said, archly. “I just want one school dance picture of you.”

Peter suddenly felt bad for not dressing up – he did have on his nicest jeans and his least-beat-up converse, and a sweater since it had started getting cold at night. He hoped he made an okay picture.

“Do you want to be my date?” he asked. “I don’t have a corsage, but—“

“I would love to, Prince Charming,” May laughed, kissing him on the cheek, “but I picked up a late shift at the ER, so you’ll have to have fun for both of us.”

Peter did not like the thought of May riding the train after dark. She must have seen the worry on his face. “I’ll text you when I’m leaving,” she said, giving his shoulder a squeeze, “and you do the same, okay? Straight home after, no making out in the limo.”

“Yeah, no,” Peter said, giving her a giant hug, “I think being surrounded by my adolescent students will definitely help me avoid temptation.”

May’s laughter tapered off, and Peter could see her waver over whether or not to ask. “Any chance Wade will show up?”

Peter tried to casually shake his head without letting on that his heart currently felt like a lollipop that had gotten thrown down on a sidewalk and crushed up by foot traffic. May saw it anyway – she always did. She gave him another big hug. “It’ll be okay, baby.”

Something about that, whether it was the sweet pet-name that she only rarely called him these days, or the fact that she’d just said it would be okay and hadn’t tried to convince him that Wade loved him and they would get back together, made Peter actually feel – better. Less angsty, at least. On the way to Brooklyn Visions, he found himself able to focus on his students, wondering if they were excited and hoping that tonight would be as fun as they were all hoping it would be. He was actually nervous as he walked into the gym.

He did not need to be nervous, he soon discovered. The kids were, for the most part, dancing aimlessly in a big group in the center of the gym floor, all in sock feet. Peter greeted the students who seemed to be shyly hanging around the punch table, some of whom he recognized from his impromptu Gay Group. There was a horrible moment when he wasn’t sure where he should plant himself, but Curt Connors saved him from his crippling awkwardness by ferrying him over to where the faculty stood against the far wall.

“Are you having flashbacks?” Curt joked. “I think I spent most of my prom just like this.”

Peter laughed – the teachers did sort of look like rejects, chatting quietly and watching the kids have fun. “I evidently didn’t go to my prom,” he confessed.

Curt introduced him to a few of the faculty members, several of whom seemed to know that he was starting a new LGBTQ student group and were eager to talk to him about it. That made Peter’s throat itch a little, but he was able to navigate the waters of social interaction fairly well for once.

Then a slow dance started, and children fled the dance floor. The teachers all dispersed as if they’d heard some psychic command to make sure none of the remaining dancers were compromising each other’s virtue. Peter stayed where he was, trying to look anywhere but at the awkwardly-swaying middle-schoolers. He thought he saw Bobby and the boy he’d been making eyes at among the couples on the floor. Way to go, Bobby. He looked over to the door of the gym, where Anna Maria was greeting parents and kids who were still arriving, and saw her talking to a very tall figure.

Holy shit.

Peter watched with his heart in his throat as Anna Maria talked animatedly to Wade, who looked distinctly anxious. He watched as she turned, scanned the crowd, spotted him and pointed him out. She beamed as Wade started heading in his direction, giving Peter a thumbs up.

Peter watched Wade make his way towards him from the other end of the gym. He was wearing the hoodie he usually wore in public, but he had the hood off, no doubt for fear of looking too creepy at a middle school dance. The lights were low and festive, so his scars weren’t too apparent, but a tall, muscular bald guy still attracted attention. Peter wanted to go to him, so that he didn’t have to cross the entire gym, but – he also wanted to let him. Not because Peter wanted him to prove something, but because it seemed like Wade was very intent on completing the gesture. His eyes kept flicking back up to Peter as he moved.

He found that he was actually speechless when Wade finally leaned against the wall next to him. He heard the giant man let out a breath, as if he’d been holding it.

“Is this okay?” Wade asked.

Peter nodded, still not able to find his voice.

“You did invite me,” Wade reminded, that edge of defensiveness in his voice. Peter slid closer to him along the wall, and he felt Wade’s whole body relax. He’d forgotten how lovely that was, to be able to comfort him so quickly with so little effort.

“Peter!”

Wade immediately re-tensed, and Peter looked up to see – of course – Kamala and Miles bouncing towards them.

“You actually came!” Kamala enthused, clapping her hands.

“I was never not coming,” Peter laughed, glancing at Wade who seemed to be trying to look aloof.

“Well, you could have changed your mind at the last minute,” Miles pointed out, his eyes also flickering over to Wade. Peter saw Kamala doing the same – looking at him, then glancing at Wade, then looking meaningfully back at him.

“This is Wade,” he said, making the kids’ faces light up. “Wade, these are my students.”

Kamala and Miles introduced themselves to Wade and shook his hand, and the three of them regarded each other awkwardly. The anxiety and thrill of having his worlds collide made Peter want to scream.

“You do social action sometimes,” Miles said to Wade, “with Emma? My mom and dad and I do, too.”

“Were you at the Black Bloc action today?” Kamala asked.

Peter’s entire brain froze. Poor Kamala immediately looked confused and kind of ashamed. “Dude,” Mile said, quietly, “you can’t ask people about Black Bloc stuff.”

“And anyway,” Wade cut in, “Peter and I prefer to wear colorful spandex when we fight evil, so—“

The serious looks on both kids’ face melted into delighted laughter. Peter had almost forgotten – Wade was fantastic with young people. A while later, when Peter had been waylaid by the Vice Principal who really wanted him to talk to their school board about his LGBTQ group, he looked over to see Wade sitting on the bleachers. Sam was sitting next to him, chatting away.

“Sorry about that,” Peter said as soon as he was able to join him.

Wade shrugged, looking over to where Sam was now crazily dancing with Miles and Kamala. “He just wanted to know how you snag a hot boyfriend if you happen to be a, um -- freak.”

Peter wanted the bleachers to open beneath him and plunge him into oblivion. “Did he say that?”

“No,” Wade laughed at him, “but that’s what he wanted to know, poor guy. And he definitely asked the right person.”

Wade looked at him with a soft, almost secretive expression. Peter felt his face flush and hoped against hope that the festive lighting hid it somewhat. He could not shake the feeling that they had been sucked into a high school coming-of-age comedy from the nineties.

“This kids-asking-you-stuff is a whole thing, huh?” Wade observed, looking anxious. “I mean – surely I’m not the only adult he’ll ever ask about that, right?”

“Yeah, it’s a lot,” Peter laughed, sympathetically. “Did I tell you they’re making me start a group for queer kids?”

Wade’s eyes lit up, but then they were joined on the bleachers by Rio and Jefferson Morales. Wade seemed glad to see people that he knew from outside of this surreal prom environment, and the four of them chatted casually for a while. Of course, as with any group of people that Peter particularly liked, the topic turned quickly to social justice.

“Did you know there was supposed to be an Alt Right rally in Queens this morning?” Rio asked. “I still can’t believe that goes on so much.”

“There was supposed to be,” Wade confirmed, “but they changed their minds when the Black Bloc showed up.”

“Is that why?” Rio asked, interested, but Jefferson was shaking his head.

“Not a fan?” Wade asked, lightly.

“No, I’m not,” Jefferson said, bluntly. “That’s just another group of white people making life harder for us so that they can feel like they did something good.”

“I don’t know that that’s true,” Rio said with a casualness that suggested she and her husband debated such things on a regular basis. It made them rise even higher on Peter’s model-relationship scale. “I know some black and Latinx who I’m pretty sure are involved in things like that.”

“But it’s hard to know who’s in charge,” Peter said, quietly, “because it’s all anonymous.”

Rio hummed in agreement, and they all sat in thoughtful silence for a moment. Wade saved things by calling their attention to the colorful bannera all around the gym that bore facts and slogans about immigration justice.

“He’s not totally right,” Wade said after Rio and Jefferson had been called away by other parents.

“He’s not totally wrong,” Peter said.

Wade looked like he wanted to say more, but another round of kids Peter knew surrounded them just then. Everyone seemed eager, Peter realized, to meet his mysterious boyfriend. It was cute and fun, and Wade was quiet but charming in his unique way. Peter tried to ignore the part of his brain that kept asking if he was sure they were boyfriends.

The kids started leaving around nine o’clock. Anna Maria thanked Peter and Wade for helping out and said that they should go home. She gave Peter a suggestive wink.

“We didn’t slow dance,” Wade observed as they made their way out through the back parking lot.

Peter raised an eyebrow. “Did you want to?”

“I mean, it’s prom,” Wade said, stopping and seeming to search for something in his hoodie pocket. “Or Sock Hop, whatever the hell that is.”

Peter laughed quietly as Wade pulled a gigantic old mp3 player and a set of earphones from his pocket. “What are we doing?” he asked, skin tingling as Wade gently put one of the little buds into his ear.

“Slow dancing,” Wade said as if it was obvious. He put the other earphone in his own ear as he flipped efficiently through his mp3 player, putting it back in his pocket when he’d selected a song. Peter couldn’t help but giggle as Wade rested his hands on his waist in true slow dance fashion. He put his hands on Wade’s shoulders and swayed with him as Judy started singing in both of their ears.

Of course Wade would have the most romantic song ever written, sung by the most beautiful voice to ever exist, on his sad old mp3 player. Peter glanced around the lot, but it was just the two of them and Judy and the school buses. He closed the distance between his and Wade’s bodies, resting his head against the big, muscular shoulder. Wade’s arms wrapped all the way around him, and he felt Wade’s chin on the top of his head. They swayed and listened.

_How far would I travel to be where you are?_

_How far is the journey from here to a star?_

“There’s another action soon,” Wade murmured as Judy’s voice tapered off. It took Peter a moment to realize what he was talking about.

“Preston texted me earlier,” he explained, sounding almost sad. “The assholes who were supposed to rally this morning are coming back, and from social media it looks like they’re recruiting a group of Neo-Nazis to protect them from us big, mean Antifa types.”

Peter continued to hold Wade tightly around the waist, considering not letting him go. Wade didn’t appear to want to go anywhere, however – his chin was still rested on top of Peter’s head. Maybe if they didn’t move it’d be okay.

“Are you going?” Peter asked.

“Probably,” Wade sighed. “You’ve gotta not, though, okay? There’s other ways you can be involved.”

Peter hated to lose the sweet weight of Wade’s head resting on his, but he had to pull away to look at him. “You want me,” he said slowly, “to sit at a computer and watch Twitter, knowing you’re out there fighting Nazis?”

“Yes,” Wade said, but he looked sick rather than angry or stern. “I want that.”

Peter sighed and placed his palm on Wade’s chest, right over his heart. It was a little weird, but he just needed to do it. Wade placed his hand over Peter’s, covering it.

“Doesn’t that just prove Jefferson’s point?” Peter said after a moment. “Yeah, we scared them off, but now they’re just coming back specifically for the purpose of being violent?”

Wade shook his head, jaw set. “It’s their choice to be violent, bigoted assholes. Nothing you do can control an abuser’s behavior – you have to set boundaries and keep them.”

Peter added “history of abuse” to the list of things he and Wade needed to talk more about when they finally made time to talk about things.

“So we just, scare them again?” Peter asked. “Harder this time?”

“It’s going to get rough this time,” Wade said, grimly. “I mean, maybe it won’t, these things are a little unpredictable, but—“

Peter nodded. He understood. Well, he didn’t really understand, not at all, but he got the idea.

Wade leaned down and hesitated as if asking permission. Peter leaned into him, bringing their lips together. All their kisses earlier that day had been rough and heated and amazing, but this felt good – slow, enjoying each other. Loving.

“I would ask if I could come back to your place,” Wade said, quietly, “but—“

“I know,” Peter said, and he did know. If they went back to either of their apartments together, they would have mind-blowingly-kinky sex. While Peter wanted that very much, he wanted so much more for them to keep talking to each other and working on the things that separated them. They were doing too well to fall back into old patterns.

“I really liked it when you fucked me this morning, though,” Peter word-vomited. Wade laughed his short, bark-like laugh and gave him another kiss. They would see each other tomorrow.

Peter went home and did not sleep. Instead, he kept playing over the conversation they’d just had about violence and abusers and boundaries and fear. Miles’ father’s words kept playing in his head. For some reason, he opened his laptop and started looking at right wing websites. When the level of ignorance and hatred got too overwhelming, he started looking at legitimate news sites but scrolling to the comments sections.

He had a policy of looking away from online comments the way a little kid might look away from a scary picture, something they knew would give them nightmares, but tonight he looked. It was just as horrifying as he’d imagined, though depending on the site there were always quite a few left-leaning comments as well. He tried to focus on articles that sounded likely to draw right-wing ire, and after braving several sites he began to notice a pattern. Maybe not a pattern, but a method. After reading enough to feel like he wasn’t imagining things, he found a recording of Judy singing “How Deep is the Ocean” and listened to it as he tried to sleep.

*~*~*

“They use, like, intellectual-sounding rhetoric to try to make themselves seem like the reasonable ones.”

Wanda nodded, gravely. They were seated on the floor of a room off Sister Margaret’s that Peter had never been in before, waiting for Preston to get done talking to Emma on the phone to start their very small meeting.

“It’s really insidious stuff,” Peter continued, “like, saying that people get along better if they’re all the same culture, or, like, asking why it’s okay to censor Nazi symbols.”

“How is that insidious?” Gabby asked, her sweet face twisted with disgust.

“It’s not to you and me,” Peter explained. “To us it’s really obviously gross and hateful because we know what they’re actually saying, but imagine if you were a kid and somebody came at you with this stuff.”

“You wouldn’t necessarily know that they were trying to manipulate you,” Wanda said.

“And not just kids, either,” Peter went on. “I just – is this their new front? They’re realizing marching in the streets with torches isn’t playing well, so they’re using, like, psychological warfare?”

“I’ve seen videos of David Duke,” Gabby said, quietly, “where the whole crowd is yelling at him but he just talks really quietly and calmly. And it works.”

The three of them sat in horrified silence for a moment until Wade, Doreen, and Weasel joined them. Preston finished her phone call and turned to the little group, sitting on the floor in front of them.

“So Emma’s working on getting a court order to stop them from rallying,” she said, wearily.

“You’d think that’d be easy,” Doreen said, holding up her phone, “what with how not-quiet they’re being about wanting to start a fight.”

Peter scanned the messages Doreen was showing them. The rage monster that lived in his chest curled and flexed.

“You’d think,” Preston said, bitterly. “But it’s not likely, so we need to be there to protect the counter-protestors.”

They spent the next hour looking at maps of the city around the rally site, deciding on escape routes and patterns. Wanda would be in charge of communications, watching social media and sending Preston updates as encrypted messages. Peter thought of what would happen if Preston’s phone got tracked by the police, what Ellie and Jeff and Shane would do if she was targeted.

“Since we know it’s gonna get rowdy,” Wade asked Preston, “should people who aren’t particularly big and strong maybe stay out of the red zone?”

Peter was about to give Wade a perturbed look when he saw Gabby and Doreen beat him to it. “Do you mean me?” Weasel asked, hopefully.

“We should think of this whole thing as a red zone,” Preston said, glancing briefly at Peter. “And anyone who isn’t one-hundred-percent ready to physically fight should not be on the street.”

“You just worry about yourself,” Gabby said to Wade, “and the glitter.”

“Wade always brings glitter!” Doreen answered Peter’s incredulous look.

Preston checked to make sure they had respirators, and Peter realized that they all had custom gasmasks that Weasel had made. His affinity group. As they gathered their things to leave, Peter took a moment to look at each of them.

Wade was not happy.

“This is going to be a fucking shit show,” he complained, half to Peter, half to Preston. “Somebody’s going to get hurt.”

Preston patted his back, solidly. “That’s the job, Wade.”

Emerging into the main room of Sister Margaret’s was a bit of a shock, all the colorful and loud bodies after the solemn focus of their little meeting. Peter joined Wanda and Gabby and Doreen in a drink, mostly for the purposes of subtly passing along important info about the action to other sympathetic persons in the bar, which was basically everybody.

“I’m going home,” Wade said when Peter asked. “But here.”

Wade took a small bundle out of his bag and handed it to Peter. It was his black hoodie, pants, and ski-goggles.

“How the hell did you find this?” Peter asked, overjoyed. He’d just been planning to borrow Wanda’s black gear since he had totally failed at retracing his steps from the other day to find where he’d dumped his.

Wade shrugged. “That’s why they pay me the big bucks.”

Peter knew Wade wanted to ask him not to participate in the morning. He pierced into Peter with those gorgeous eyes just like he had the first time they’d met, but he didn’t say anything. They were still in a delicate place. Peter gave him a kiss before he left.

“Please take this tomorrow,” Wanda said, slipping Peter a small, rectangular object.

“It’s a taser,” she said quietly, covering it with her hand when he tried to look at it. “Just watch a few videos about how to use it, okay? Please?”

Peter and Wanda were not in a delicate place, so he promised to do as she said. She gave him a long hug before they parted ways at her train stop – she wouldn’t see him in the morning. Peter felt the bulkiness of his black outfit in his bag and the outline of the taser in his pocket the entire way home.

*~*~*

Wade had been right.

This was a shit show.

Peter fought to see through the thick tear gas, resisting the urge to panic – his goggles and Weasels’ mask were keeping him safe so far, and he’d even been able to help several others who weren’t as well prepared. He had completely lost track of Gabby, Doreen, and Preston early on. He had not seen Wade since the beginning of the action, when he’d been distributing roll-on glitter to anyone who wanted it. That seemed like years ago now.

The sounds of a scuffle caught Peter’s ear. He shouted at the group he was with to “keep moving and stay together” as he hung back, moving towards the sound. Out of the awful mist he saw three figures, two Neo-Nazi skinheads with bandanas over their faces fighting one very tall person.

Wade had gloves on and zero skin showing – he had to keep his scars covered for this or he’d be too recognizable – but Peter knew it was him. He had no question. He watched Wade land a good hit on one of the skinheads and remembered him punching a Nazi right before confronting a cop, all those months ago. But instead of crumpling like the alt-right protestor had that night, these guys just kept coming. Wade was floundering.

Peter ran towards the fight, his body on autopilot. Later, he would recall feeling no fear, just a very strong impression that he was going to rescue Wade from these motherfuckers.

He saw one of the skinheads hit Wade in the side with what looked like a crowbar, saw Wade curl in pain, and heard himself shout, angrily. The skinhead turned around, but not in time to stop Peter from digging a taser into his stomach.

Time seemed to slow down as he watched the asshole’s eyes open wide in shock and pain. Peter felt himself shoved from behind, and he landed on top of the tased skinhead. He quickly pushed himself to his feet, but the tased one was not getting back up. Peter turned around to see Wade pummeling the other skinhead with his left arm – his right arm was tucked tightly to his side.

“Come on,” Wade said, grabbing him with his usable arm and starting to run. Peter kept up with him. They were getting away, dispersing. Wade started shedding his black layers as soon as they were down a few alleys, away from any tear gas.

“You need an ER,” Peter said as he helped Wade remove his hoodie over his busted arm.

Wade shook his head, grimacing. “Just home.”

“Your ribs are broken,” Peter insisted, quickly shedding his own black clothing. “Come on, I know one that’s close.”

Wade growled a little but didn’t fight as Peter wrapped an arm around his waist and started hurrying down another alley. He started frantically coming up with a believable story to explain to May why he and Wade were coming into her ER smelling like poison and beat to hell.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you all know, I am NOT hardcore and all my depictions of Black Bloc actions are based on research. Here are some articles that were particularly useful for this chapter:
> 
> Fashion Tips for the Brave and Fabulous (featuring the importance of roll-on glitter) - https://crimethinc.com/2008/10/11/fashion-tips-for-the-brave
> 
> Inside America's Hard Left: https://video.vice.com/en_us/video/the-black-bloc-antifa-inside-americas-hard-left-fighting-alt-right/590cff588a99751977883e1b
> 
> https://www.vice.com/en_us/article/8x553v/being-part-of-the-black-bloc-means-fear-isolation-and-violence
> 
>  
> 
> Only TWO more chapters!! More like one more chapter and an epilogue, and I'll probably post them together.
> 
> I am SO sorry that updates are taking longer! School is sucking up a lot of my time, so usually I can only get a little bit done every day, but I promise I'm writing!
> 
> Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	14. Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Second to last chapter! Technically the last chapter because all that's left is the epilogue!
> 
> BLESS MY BELOVED BETA QQI25

“I have a great urge to put you over my knee and beat some sense into your ass, but I am honestly too intimidated by you to really even consider such a thing.”

“Yeah? Same to you,” Peter crossed his arms, glaring despite the fact that he was blushing furiously. “Except for the intimidated part.”

“I know,” Wade sighed. “You’re literally one of three people who’s never ever thought I was scary.”

Wade’s gorgeous blue eyes were kind of glassy. He’d tried to refuse the pain meds, and if his nurse had been anyone but May, Wade might have won the argument. Now he was high on opioids and feeling feelings. He was so in touch with his emotions, in fact, that when they wheeled a big x-ray machine into the ER exam room and told Peter he needed to step out, Wade looked openly upset.

“He’ll be okay,” May reassured as she closed the curtain. “Can I speak with you, please?”

Shit.

Peter followed May down a short hallway to a small waiting area. She sat down, and he sat in the chair opposite her, where she directed him.

“What the hell happened to him?” May asked in a tone that let Peter know there would be no bullshitting his way out of this. “What is he involved in?”

“We were both in the action,” Peter said, his own voice sounding far away. “The Antifa action. We were fighting Neo-Nazis to protect the people protesting the Alt Right rally.”

May’s eyes went wide and her jaw went rigid. Peter was afraid for a moment that yet another person was about to threaten to spank him that morning, except he couldn’t threaten this one back.

“Jesus Christ,” May breathed, the anger melting from her face and leaving only fear. “Jesus, Peter.”

“I’m sorry,” Peter said, barely keeping his voice from shaking. She didn’t ask him what she was supposed to do if something happened to him – she didn’t need to. May reached across and took his hand.

“You don’t need to be sorry,” she said, swallowing. “I’m sorry you had to do that. You’re both very brave. But – please don’t do that ever again.”

She looked like she felt terrible for asking him, but Peter nodded immediately. He didn’t know if he was lying or not, but he knew at least that May would never, ever have to worry about him risking life and limb.

When they finally let Peter back into the exam room, Wade was beside himself.

“A huge guy with a busted arm is not exactly inconspicuous,” he fretted.

“It’s fine,” Peter comforted, though his neck tingled with anxiety. “We went down like four alleys and there was tear gas everywhere, no one followed us.”

“All they have to do is look up hospital records,” Wade insisted. “We should have gone somewhere further away from the action site, if they figure out about May—“

“Hush,” Peter said with a significant look, and Wade actually obeyed him, though he still looked stressed. It didn’t help that the TV in the small room was showing a news report about the action.

“Do you want to call Preston?” Peter asked as they watched video footage of Neo-Nazis fighting figures all in black, surrounded by a cloud of tear gas.

Wade shook his head, looking sick. Peter knew he was worried about the hospital’s phone lines being tapped, and while he wanted to think that was seriously paranoid, part of him thought it was better to be safe than sorry. They’d just have to wait until Wade got released and hope that Gabby and Doreen were back at the apartment. He hoped somebody had called Wanda.

“Why did they bother to recruit Nazi skinheads,” Wade asked, his speech slurring from the pain meds, “when they already had the police?”

Peter looked at the TV screen, which was showing a massive wall of uniformed officers with riot gear pressing back the leftist counter-protestors while the Alt Right rally happened safely behind them. He hadn’t actually seen that at the action. It was so frustrating to not know what had gone on, to just have to trust that they’d made a difference. The news report showed an interview with a woman saying she thought they were all terrible, Antifa and Alt Right, for being violent and fighting in the streets where innocent people could get hurt. Peter felt anger and guilt burn in his stomach.

“I’m sorry, Peter.”

Peter turned and was horrified to see that Wade was in tears. He shook his head, covering his face with his one usable hand. Peter turned off the TV and quickly moved to sit next to him on the hospital bed.

“I got you mixed up in this shit,” he said before Peter could ask what he was talking about. “I should have left you alone, you’re a good person—“

Peter wanted to hold him, but the sight of Wade’s arm wrapped in a sling stopped him. He rubbed his hand up and down Wade’s shaking back, feeling like a hole had opened in his own chest.

“You did not get me into this,” Peter said, quietly. “You didn’t do anything wrong—“

Wade laughed, wetly, lifting his face from his hand. “I do a lot of bad things, and I should have told you right away, but I didn’t, because I just – I adore you.”

Peter had dreamed of this, a tearful, heart-felt love profession from Wade. Now that it was actually happening, he felt sick. He never ever wanted Wade to cry, ever again. He silently vowed to spend the rest of his life preventing anything from making Wade sad or upset.

“I’m so sorry,” Wade said again, wiping his face with the back of his hand. “It’s the pains meds, I told them I didn’t want any, I’m gross.”

“Hey, I’ve snot-cried on you multiple times,” Peter reminded, wiping at Wade’s face with his own hand just to show he didn’t mind.

“Because I made you sad,” Wade shook his head, sniffing and swallowing. “And I’m sick, honey, I’m not well in, like, various, overlapping ways, I should not be in your life, I just--”

Peter leaned in and kissed him on the jaw. Wade tried to turn away, but Peter gently took his chin and held his face, pressing their foreheads together.

“You’re wonderful,” he said, making sure Wade heard him. “I love you.”

Wade made a sound that was possibly happy, but mostly broken and pitiful. Only happy tears from here on out, Peter thought. He knew that wasn’t possible, but goddammit, he’d try his best.

Peter was so thankful that May and not a strange doctor found them like that. Turned out, Wade’s arm was broken in two places but he did not need surgery. His ribs were cracked but not broken. That meant his lungs weren’t in danger, but they also couldn’t do anything for him except send him home with more pain meds.

“Should you go out a different way?” May asked, looking suspiciously out at the waiting room. Peter gave her a kiss and a hug and told her not to worry, that they’d be fine. He felt Wade tense as they walked out, though, and he knew his big scary man was probably scanning the room, daring any Nazis to fuck with them.

Doreen and Gabby greeted them with happy screaming when they got back to Wade’s apartment. Wade was so relieved to hear that Preston had gotten home all right that he had to sit right down on the couch without making it to his room, but that was fine. Peter helped the ladies find their heating pad and ice packs, and the three of them got Wade as comfortable as they could. They traded stories of their Black Bloc experiences, and Doreen generously put on _In the Good Old Summertime_ for them to watch.

“I fucking love this song,” Wade slurred as Judy pretended to play a harp and sang “Meet Me Tonight in Dreamland.” Peter carefully leaned closer to kiss him on the forehead, but Wade was already asleep. Peter felt his own eyes growing heavy – his stomach was growling as they had definitely missed lunch and it was almost dinnertime, but he was suddenly so overwhelmingly tired.

When Peter woke up, he realized he’d missed his evening shift at the lab. He would have thought, after working there for quite a while and having never even been late, that they’d be a little more understanding. They didn’t fire him, but they hadn’t guaranteed him a shift anytime soon. Peter felt his face burn with shame and fought the urge to call them back and ask if they’d ever tased a Nazi before.

Once Wade woke up, the four of them ordered take-out. They finished their movie while eating dinner, and then Doreen and Gabby headed out to Sister Marg’s, eager to hear about how the action had gone for the rest of their friends. The thought briefly crossed Peter’s mind that they should take advantage of being alone, but one look at Wade’s bandaged-up arm and the sick, listless expression on his face told Peter this was not the moment. Instead, they cuddled together on the couch and caught up on their newsfeeds.

“Are you seeing this shit about those ICE agents?” Peter asked after scanning the headlines.

“Oh, the child rapist and the serial killer?” Wade asked in a weak approximation of his wry, sarcastic voice. “Sure did – those crazy ICE agents.”

Peter shook his head in disgust and disbelief as he read about how one agent had stalked and killed multiple female sex workers. He thought of how that agent must have treated countless immigrant women, the abuse that people had to have seen but that no one stopped. He wondered how many ICE agents, how many cops were attracted to their job because it meant they could hurt people and get paid for it.

“That’s why, baby,” Wade said, groggily. “That’s why it’s okay for us to do crime and stuff – these guys are fucking monsters.”

Peter didn’t argue with him, just snuggled a little closer. Wade was asleep again within minutes, and Peter thought he could let him snore softly against his shoulder like that for the rest of his life – until his arm fell asleep and he had to readjust their position.

Leaving the apartment the next morning was a struggle on multiple fronts. Doreen and Gabby both had to work, too, which meant Wade would be alone until at least the late afternoon. Wade waved away their concern and their offers to have someone else some stay with him – he was more worried about the Nazis that just had to be lying in wait for them outside of the apartment.

“I will text you the minute I get to Stark Tech,” Peter reassured.

“You keep that taser with you,” Wade instructed. “You’re handy with that thing.”

They kissed goodbye, but Wade still looked sick with worry as he waved Peter out the door. Peter texted him from both of his train stops, just for good measure.

Going to Brooklyn Visions around lunchtime was fairly surreal – Peter thought of the Sock Hop, slow dancing in the parking lot, all things that seemed like they’d happened a long time ago now.

“Dr. Connors says we raised over three-thousand dollars!” Kamala announced, ecstatically.

“That is amazing,” Peter said, genuinely impressed.

“And it’s all going to the National Immigration Law Center,” Miles added, “except for, like, a couple of hundred dollars that we’re going to use to throw another Sock Hop next semester.”

The kiddos continued to tell him all about their fundraising plans as they proceeded to, as usual, absorb absolutely zero chemistry. The shitty part of Peter’s brain whispered that the money they’d raised would do nothing to stop ICE agents from hurting whomever they wanted to. The less shitty part of his brain said that it actually might do some real good, even for just a few people. They were reallocating chunks of American wealth to people who needed it.

 _Wealth management_ , he couldn’t help hearing Wade say in his head.

The last thing Peter had to do before he could get back to his poor invalid Antifa soldier was meet with J. Jonah Jameson. He was still not sure how exactly that had happened. He had a vague memory of checking his email while waiting for Wade’s x-rays and seeing a message from Betty saying his ex-boss wanted to talk to him. Had he been in his right mind, he would have ignored the request or told J.J. to shove it, but here he was back in the Daily Bugle office.

“Can you believe this?” J.J. asked, gesturing vehemently at the video footage he was showing Peter on his laptop screen.

Peter looked carefully between J.J. and the video of black-clad people fighting skinheads and people in khakis and polos. He tried not to pick himself or any of his loved ones out of the faceless bodies.

“Can I believe the police protected Neo-Nazis who were specifically recruited to beat up counter-protestors?” he asked, calmly. “Yeah, unfortunately, I can believe that.”

“That,” J.J. said, eyes lighting up as he pointed a finger at Peter’s chest, “that right there – that is exactly what my son said. What the hell does that mean?”

Peter blinked. Jameson stared at him, expectantly. “Why don’t you ask your son?” he attempted.

“Because I’m asking you,” J.J. said, looking a tiny bit uncomfortable. “You sent those pictures from the Black Lives group or whatever it is, you know about this stuff, right?”

Still feeling very disoriented, Peter did his best to explain to J.J. Jameson how the previous day’s social action had come about. He even gave a short explanation of the history of White Nationalism and the Black Bloc. He was shocked at how much he knew and was able to talk about without getting angry. J.J. listened, interjecting with questions every now and then, but Peter couldn’t tell how much was actually landing with him.

“I just don’t buy it,” J.J. shook his head, confirming Peter’s suspicions. “Calling people Nazis, calling the police fascists – these kooks just want to make themselves feel better about disturbing the peace and destroying property, they’re just criminals.”

Peter thought of Wade fighting two skinheads at once. The image of his tall frame crumpling as one skinhead hit him with a crowbar replayed in slow motion in Peter’ head. He had not really let himself think about it since the day before, and now it made rage curl in his stomach.

“You can think whatever you need to,” Peter said, surprised at how calm he sounded. “Is that all?”

J.J. looked thrown, and Peter nearly smiled. Not rising to their bait was about the worst thing you could do to privileged older white men.

“No,” J.J. said, recovering his bravado, “I want you covering this stuff, these Antifa people, these White Nationalist, Alt Right, whatever the hell they’re called. No more human interest bullshit –“

J.J. launched into a description of the kind of photos he wanted and Peter sat for a moment, processing. Finally, he held up a hand. “I don’t work for you anymore,” he said, simply.

“What the hell do you mean you don’t work for me?” J.J. demanded.

“I never technically worked for you,” Peter explained. “I was a freelance photographer who you occasionally paid if you felt like it, but now I have an actual job that pays me regularly. I sent you photos of the BLM group because I’m their media person, not because I work for you.”

“You can’t do both?” J.J. asked, spreading his arms. “You never heard of having multiple jobs?”

The rage-ball in Peter’s stomach glowed a bit, but mostly he found himself – annoyed. Done.

“J.J., no one would work for you if they didn’t have to,” he said without heat. “You’re a terrible boss. You don’t pay people what they’re worth, and you treat everyone like shit.”

The part of Peter who’d known this man since he was in high school gasped in horror, but real Peter, grown up Peter, barely even felt satisfaction. Jameson’s eyes literally bulged in disbelief, but it didn’t come close to intimidating him. He had rescued his boyfriend from Nazis, after all.

“Why didn’t you say anything before if you were so unhappy?” J.J. finally asked, defensively.

Peter resisted the strong urge to roll his eyes. “Why didn’t I confront you about how I was being treated when I had no contract and you barely paid me anyway?”

When J.J. just stared at him, lost for words, Peter stood to leave. “Look, there are a lot of resources out there about Antifa action,” he said. “If you want, I can send you some links. Or talk to your son about it, sounds like he understands.”

J.J. didn’t say anything or even look at Peter as he left the office. That was fine – Peter had pretty much given up on the idea of people like Jameson changing, but at least he’d stood up to the man. Betty raised an eyebrow at him as he left, and Peter promised to call her soon.

*~*~*

“Absolutely not.”

Wade out and out pouted. “You don’t want to?” he asked, sounding hurt.

“I would love to,” Peter said, gently removing Wade’s hand from his thigh, “but you are very injured and you’re on pain meds and are not making good decisions right now.”

“I haven’t taken anything since last night,” Wade corrected, looking pleased with himself.

“Okay,” Peter said, holding Wade’s hand that was trying to worm its way back towards his crotch, “but you still have multiple broken bones and you could get hurt even worse if you move too much.”

“So tell me not to move,” Wade said with a sly smile, “Daddy.”

Peter’s brain turned immediately to mush. It must have shown on his face, because Wade smirked his adorably cheeky lopsided smirk – he’d won, and he knew it.

“Lay back,” Peter instructed, making his voice work, “and stay still or I’ll stop.”

“Yes, sir,” Wade said, leaning obediently back against his stack of pillows.

Peter took a moment to look Wade over – he was only wearing his hoodie, as he could easily get it over his poor broken arm, and boxer shorts. Peter decided he could leave the hoodie on. His pulse pounded in his ears as he hooked his fingers into the waistband of the shorts, and he would have felt embarrassed by how turned on he already was if he couldn’t hear Wade’s breath coming fast and hard.

“No, no,” Peter scolded gently when Wade tried to lift his hips, “I’ve got you, baby, just be still.”

The pet name made Wade’s eyes go warm and soft, just like Peter had wanted. It took some doing, but he managed to pull the boxers off of Wade’s hips and down his legs, leaving him naked from the waist down. Peter moved Wade’s right leg so that it was bent at the knee, resting on the bed, and he lifted Wade’s left calf to rest on his own shoulder.

“Good boy,” Peter purred. Wade’s face reddened – he looked like it was torturing him to be this exposed, spread and on display like this, but he made no move to cover himself. Peter wondered if he’d ever quite seen him from this angle before. He leaned his head against Wade’s knee and just indulged in looking at him for a moment, stroking his hand along Wade’s right thigh, up his stomach, carefully avoiding his cock, which was very desperately trying to get Peter’s attention.

Wade whined and squirmed a little. Peter popped him on the inner thigh with his open hand, and Wade gasped but stilled instantly. Peter continued grazing his fingers lightly over Wade’s skin, remembering how the feeling of rough scar tissue both aroused him and hurt his heart at the same time.

“Please, Daddy,” Wade said, low and soft.

“Please what, baby?” Peter asked, shocking the hell out of himself with how confident he sounded. “You need Daddy to touch you?”

Wade nodded, his throat bobbing as he swallowed. Peter moved his fingers down around Wade’s cock to his hole, lightly stroking his thumb over it. “Like this?”

Wade nodded again, mouth falling open a little. Peter took his time, not even trying to penetrate him, just enjoying the feeling of his fingertips on the puckered skin of Wade’s entrance, the very soft skin surrounding it. He wanted to memorize it. He felt like he was underwater, like he could make time slow down for this, just seeing Wade laid bare in front of him.

“You feel so good, baby,” Peter praised. “I bet you taste good, too. Would you please let Daddy eat you out?”

Wade had closed his eyes, and now they opened again, blue and gorgeous and locking right onto Peter. “Yes, please, Daddy,” he murmured.

Peter tried to gracefully scoot down the bed so that his face was at Wade’s crotch, but he found he wasn’t as self-conscious as he had been every time they’d had sex before. Something had changed over the time they’d been angry at each other. This felt comfortable and right, and it had before, too, but now it was – better. Stronger. He wrapped one arm around Wade’s leg to hold him open and used his other hand to gently pull Wade’s ass cheeks apart, licking tentatively at his hole.

Wade gasped and Peter felt him jerk, then stop himself. Technically he had moved, but he was trying so hard to be good that Peter let it go. He kept licking at the sensitive skin, letting the tip of his tongue delve ever so slightly into the opening. He had never eaten another man out before, and he wondered if it was supposed to taste this good, if the warmth and the closeness was always this intoxicating. He had a feeling it was just Wade.

“Oh, Daddy,” he heard his big man whimper, the muscular leg in his grip flexing helplessly. “Please, please, please–“

It felt like so long since they’d been together this way, but Peter knew what that broken tone of voice meant. He maneuvered out of his position, leaning over to Wade’s nightstand and grabbing the lube from where it was conveniently placed on top.

“Look how prepared you are,” Peter praised as he squeezed a good amount onto his fingers, “such a good boy, thinking of everything—“

Wade hummed happily as Peter repositioned himself between his legs. He bucked a little as Peter’s slick finger circled his hole, but it only took Peter pulling his hand away to get him to remember himself and hold still. Peter worked one finger inside of him, then another, waiting until Wade’s eyes were closed and he was good and distracted.

“Hold very still for me, okay, baby?” Peter watched Wade nod before wrapping his other hand around Wade’s cock and taking him into his mouth. Wade cried out and tensed but held still, his hips twisting ever so slightly. Peter imagined what he must feel like, desperate to get fucked harder, desperate to get more of his cock sucked. The blood rushed out of Peter’s head and he had to concentrate on breathing.

It was over entirely too fast, but Peter still felt a rush of satisfaction when Wade’s cock went rigid against his tongue. He drank him down, making sure to get every last drop. He’d forgotten how good his man tasted.

“Later,” he said when Wade palmed his erection through his jeans. Wade grumbled a little in protest but soon quieted down, wrapped in Peter’s arms as much as he could get him without hurting him.

“Are you okay?” Wade asked him after a few minutes of silent cuddling.

It took Peter a moment to realize what he was talking about. “Um, yes, I am fine,” he laughed, lightly. “You’re the one who got hit with a crowbar, not sure if you noticed—“

Wade frowned at him, pretty blue eyes all full of concern. “I’m fine,” Peter said, seriously. “I did not like seeing you get hurt, but absorbing trauma is something I’m good at.”

“Hurting another person when you’re not used to it can really fuck with you,” Wade said. “Even if it’s a goddamn Nazi.”

Peter remembered the look on the skinhead’s face when he’d tased him. He remembered how he’d felt when he knew he’d won, that he wasn’t going to get killed, that he’d caught the fucking Nazi by surprise and had hurt him. Badly.

“I enjoyed it,” Peter heard himself say. “It felt good.”

Wade didn’t say anything but covered Peter’s hand with his much bigger one.

“I don’t like that I enjoyed it,” Peter added, quietly.

“That’s okay,” Wade said.

Peter was reminded of when Wade had told him it was okay for him to take the Stark Tech job, that it was okay for him to be so angry, all the times Wade had made him feel better about being who he was, like he wasn’t fundamentally flawed. He felt a lump well in his throat and tucked Wade’s head under his chin to hide it. Peter doubted very much that he’d ever given Wade the same kind of comfort – he’d probably only ever made him feel bad about himself.

Wade’s sleep had been fitful because it was so hard for him to find a comfortable position, so Peter wasn’t surprised when he dozed off a few minutes later. He ignored the pins and needles in his own arm that was kind of trapped under Wade’s side and pulled out his phone to check emails, hoping maybe the lab had forgiven him and sent him a shift schedule. Instead, he found a message from Betty.

_Mr. Jameson says he’d like you to send those links to him, please._

Jameson was CC-ed on the email, or Peter was pretty sure there would have been a series of intrigued question marks at the end of that sentence. After taking a moment to convince himself that he wasn’t hallucinating, Peter found several of his favorite informative articles about the Alt Right and Antifa action, pasted them into a reply email and sent them back to Betty. It was a trick to do with one hand, but he managed. He lay next to and slightly under Wade’s sleeping form and let himself think.

“You’re so cute when your brain’s working.”

Peter looked down to see Wade yawning awake. “Our brains are always working,” he reminded.

“Exactly,” Wade said with an impish grin. Peter rolled his eyes and pantomimed vomiting on him. Wade laughed, and together they worked on getting feeling back into Peter’s arm.

“I think I was wrong about something.”

Wade raised an eyebrow, or the skin where an eyebrow would usually be. “Oh yeah?”

Peter nodded, putting thoughts together in his head. “I think that, yeah, maybe a lot of conservative or small-minded people can’t or won’t change, but maybe some of them can if they just have the right resources.”

Wade frowned, but he stayed quiet, squeezing the prickles out of Peter’s arm with his usable hand.

“I think it’s worth trying, anyway,” Peter went on, “because the Alt Right uses manipulative rhetoric to get folks to think their way, or to at least question things, so shouldn’t we fight them on that front, too?”

“So, like – education?” Wade asked.

“Yeah,” Peter said, feeling a little relieved. “What if we focused on that, especially on talking to kids? I’m not great at it, but I’m not scared of it, at least. And I like doing it, and I think it does make positive change.”

“You are great at talking to kids,” Wade stated.

Peter gently pulled his now-awake arm from Wade’s grasp. “What do you think about that?”

Wade met his eyes and took a deep breath before speaking. “I think you’re right about helping kids,” he said, “but I disagree with you about white, privileged assholes just needing some good educational resources to stop ignoring and hurting everyone else on the planet.”

Peter looked down at the rumpled bed sheet they were sitting on. He could feel Wade tense. “All they understand is force,” he continued, that defensive edge creeping into his voice. “It’s not my fault it’s like that.”

Peter looked back up at Wade and saw that, yep, his expression had closed off in that way it did whenever this came up. Not this time, Peter thought. He reached over and took Wade’s hand, meeting his eyes.

“I think you’re very brave and strong,” Peter said, trying not to let his voice waver, “and I think you should be proud of everything you’ve done, because you’ve done it all for good reasons.”

Wade blinked at him for a moment, then looked away. “I know that.”

“I know,” Peter said, not letting go of his hand. “But I thought it was important for you to know that I know it, too.”

Wade didn’t look back at him but squeezed his hand. “You still don’t want me to do it, though,” he said, finally meeting Peter’s eyes again. “Right?”

Peter shook his head. “I will love you no matter what you do,” he said, “but, yeah, I – the Black Bloc stuff is scary enough, I can’t handle the mercenary stuff.”

He wanted to say more, but he couldn’t summon anything else, so he just sat there, everything on the table. He felt Wade pull his hand out of his grip, and his heart clenched painfully, but then Wade’s big, warm, rough palm was on his jaw, Wade’s thumb brushing his cheek.

“I don’t agree to give up the merc business,” he said in his wry voice, “but I agree to go on hiatus and let you try to talk me out of it.”

Peter placed a hand over Wade’s, holding it to his face. He laughed, and Wade grinned, letting out his bark of a laugh as well. Peter leaned in and kissed him, long and deep and sweet.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here's Judy singing the song: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=yLtu_w11rvM
> 
> And here's a link to the National Immigration Law Center who do lots of awesome work: https://www.nilc.org/
> 
> The epilogue is short and sweet, so hopefully I'll have it up, soon! THANK YOU to everyone who reads and comments -- I promise I'll get caught up in replying over the weekend! 
> 
> Tumble me: crockzilla.tumblr.com


	15. It Really Was No Miracle (What Happened Was Just This)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The Epilogue!
> 
> All blessings and gratefulness to my sweet, wonderful beta, QQI25!!!

Police murdering people of color. President being horrible. Net neutrality. Sexual abuse.

“Okay,” Wade said, setting his phone down on the bed, “what’s your one?”

“Honestly,” Peter sighed, fingers tapping quickly on his laptop as he posted news articles to their Antifa group’s page, “I am most pissed off that our Mayor continues to do nothing about the housing crisis.”

“Well,” Wade grinned, pulling the bed covers up higher on Peter’s body, “we’re already doing something about that – how convenient.”

Peter smiled, even though the reminder sent a rush of nerves through him. “What’s your one?”

Wade’s pretty eyes darkened as he looked back at his phone. “The earthquake in Indonesia a couple months ago that no one in our government noticed because they were too busy shielding a rapist? The death toll is still rising.”

“Well, hey,” Peter said, setting his laptop aside so that he could snuggle into his husband’s chest, “we can do something about that, too. Let’s talk to Emma about a fundraiser.”

“But, Peter, we already won the midterms,” Wade said, sarcastically. “Why do I, a white liberal, need to worry about anything else?”

“It’s the holidays,” Peter reminded, kissing him on the nose. “White people are throwing money everywhere.”

“Is it too late to add it to our lists of places to donate money instead of giving us more shit we don’t need?” Wade asked.

“Nope,” Peter said, sitting up and grabbing his laptop again. Wade curled around his back like a big, warm, human space-heater as Peter updated their social media.

“Last day of school,” Wade reminded, nibbling his ear.

Peter hummed and turned his head to catch Wade’s lips. It wasn’t as if either of them got to take a real break from their multiple jobs, but Brooklyn Visions going on holiday break did mean a few more free hours for a couple of weeks.

*~*~*

Later that morning as he watched Emma talk to his little student group, Peter thought about how they had grown over a few months. At first it had just been Kamala, Miles, Sam, and usually Bobby and two or three other “regulars.” Now he was looking at a group of twenty kids listening raptly as Emma answered their questions about organizing social action. Peter realized he knew all of their names because they all showed up every week these days.

“This one was really good,” Sam informed him once the meeting was over. “But I still think my favorite was when your aunt came and talked to us about sex.”

“Please don’t describe it that way, Sam,” Peter sighed. He had to admit, though, that May’s visit to talk to the kids about safe queer sex had been fantastic. He hadn’t even had to leave the room for it, which he’d assumed he’d need to do.

“What a great group,” Emma complimented once the kids had all left. “I think this is really where we win the fight, you know? They’re so brave and curious, not jaded yet.”

Peter tried to be cool, as Emma was still someone he felt a need to impress even though he and Wade continued to regularly caused disruptions in her meetings. Her encouraging words made him feel like a balloon was expanding in his chest. Maybe it was the holidays, maybe he was just being an overly optimistic white liberal, but he couldn’t help feeling like things were maybe not so horribly shitty anymore, or maybe they were getting to be less shitty.

“Speaking of being jaded,” he said as he walked Emma to the parking lot, “remember that earthquake in Indonesia a few months back?”

*~*~*

“You are a natural with that thing.”

The sultry voice over Peter’s shoulder startled him so badly that he hit the padded table much harder than he intended. He heard the wood crack and felt the giant paddle he was holding split at the base.

“It’s okay,” Shiklah laughed at his horrified apologies. “This one’s getting on in years, not your fault. Though you are looking more filled out these days, if I may say so.”

Peter felt himself blush – Wade had been teaching him how to lift weights without dislocating his bones, and now he had destroyed a perfectly good paddle. 

“What if that had happened on someone’s ass?” he asked, trying to fit the pieces back together.

“It would not be the first time,” Shiklah comforted, taking the broken pieces from him. That was too distressing an image for Peter to even process, so he distracted himself by helping her clean up as the rest of the class made their way out.

“This has been really fun,” Peter said, hoping that wasn’t too awkward a thing to say to his husband’s ex-domme. “I mean, you know, aside from when I broke your equipment.”

“Well, we’re starting floggers in January,” she said, hanging the last of the paddles on the wall (and oh, the one he’d just broken was not the biggest one, what a relief). “They’re much harder to break.”

Peter’s heart sank. They’d barely been able to afford for him to take Shiklah’s Impact 101 class, so it was very unlikely that he’d get to continue his education. 

But he told her he’d sign up if it squared with his work schedule as the two of them emerged from the back room and into Sister Margaret’s, which was packed wall to wall. Holly hung in giant swaths from every rafter and sat on every table, and so many things were on fire that Peter was sure it had to be illegal. No one cared – everyone in the place was giddy with anticipation for the Annual Pagan Solstice Drag Benefit.

“I have it on good authority that your hubs is the main draw,” Shiklah informed him with a wink.

Peter laughed as they made their way to the bar, where Weasel was setting shots on fire while loudly proclaiming that “Solstice is the Reason for the Season.” Were all of these people mostly here to see Wade’s performance? If so, they were not going to be disappointed – Peter had seen dress rehearsal.  

*~*~*

They had gotten married in October. They hadn’t told anyone, just gone to the courthouse and signed papers. The clerk who helped them was very professional, though she clearly thought they were a bit weird. Peter couldn’t blame her – Wade scowled through the process like he was expecting someone to try to stop them, and Peter sweated profusely while giggling at inappropriate moments. They had gone home after and ordered pizza, which was a rare treat.

They weren’t giving in to capitalism or heteronormative culture, Peter had insisted to Wade. They were gaming the system. What was the point of Peter’s having the option to put a spouse on his fancy Stark Tech health insurance if not to take care of Wade? It wasn’t like he could put May on his policy (which sent Wade into a giant rant about heteronormative culture). Peter reminded Wade that May wasn’t in remission from cancer. That shut him up pretty fast, and after a few hours of skulking around the apartment, Wade agreed that gaming the system together would be a pretty romantic move.

As Peter watched his husband take the tiny stage wearing the gorgeous Judy-inspired dress that he’d helped him make, he had to agree – being married was pretty romantic.

He was not sure how Wade maintained the focus to perfectly lip-sync “Have Yourself A Merry Little Christmas” while most of the audience clamored to all throw tips at him at once. Peter very much wanted to slide a bill under his bra strap like he’d seen people do to the other performers so far (Weasel had happily allowed his g-string to be stuffed full) but everyone was being very respectful of Wade, and he didn’t want to break the mood. Wade looked absolutely beautiful – no wig, just perfect makeup, the dress, and fierce pumps.

“You gave me a great deal of our money,” Wade laughed as Peter helped him get changed in the small dressing room.

“It’s all going to the Youth Home,” Peter reminded. He took advantage of the fact that Wade was seated, wiping his makeup off, and hooked his chin over the much taller man’s shoulder. 

“I cannot wait,” Peter whispered into Wade’s ear, “to fuck you in that dress.”

He watched in the mirror as Wade’s eyes went glassy. Peter grinned and kissed him on the neck. They spent enough time at the after party to not be rude, but no one seemed surprised that they were making an early exit.

*~*~*

“Daddy, please –“

Peter slowly rocked his hips as Wade’s fingers dug into his thighs. He could feel Wade’s cock pulsing inside of him, Wade’s pelvis straining underneath him, wanting so badly to be allowed to let go but instead holding perfectly still like the very good boy he was.

“What do you need, baby?” Peter asked, palms pressing into Wade’s chest.

Wade was a mess, splayed out on their bed, dress rucked up across his muscled stomach, face twisted with need, traces of makeup around his gorgeous blue eyes.

“Please let me, Daddy,” Wade whined, his voice small and helpless.

Peter wanted so badly to give in to him, but he knew from experience that they weren’t quite there yet, not quite at either of their limits.

“I need to hear you say it, baby,” Peter said. “What do you want me to let you do?”

Wade groaned. “Please, please let me fuck you, Daddy, I need it--”

“Okay, sweetheart,” Peter relented, leaning forward, “but don’t come until I say.”

Wade’s eyes went wide, but he met Peter’s gaze and nodded, and Peter felt the thrill that always went through him when his big man was obedient. He thought Wade would start slow, but instead strong hands grabbed his hips and held him in place as Wade started fucking up into him, hard and fast. 

Peter’s fingers grasped at his husband’s forearms as his whole body was jolted – he heard himself making little cries and gasps, and he didn’t know what his face looked like, but he’d almost started not to care about that anymore. He watched Wade’s face, feeling Wade’s hips pistoning, Wade’s thick cock filling him up over and over again, wishing he could enjoy the sensation of each thrust individually but not wanting him to slow down. 

Wade went suddenly still, gripping Peter’s waist. Peter whimpered in protest before he remembered why his good boy had stopped abruptly. He looked at Wade’s face, impossibly sexy even though it was contorted with effort.

“Good job, baby,” Peter breathed, making himself slowly rock his hips, “my sweet baby –“

Wade let out a pitiful, frustrated moan, thrusting shallowly into Peter’s body. The delicious burn of Wade inside of him, Wade splitting him open was more than Peter could take. He cupped Wade’s face with his hand, and Wade closed his eyes and turned toward the contact, kissing his palm.

“Come for me, honey.”

Wade’s eyes opened with an animalistic gleam. He fucked Peter so brutally that he felt it in his teeth, but Peter was still devastated when Wade went rigid inside of him again, this time shaking with release. He sighed when Wade gently slipped out of him.

“Can I please clean you up, Daddy?” his baby asked with a lopsided grin, and how could Peter resist such a polite request? 

He let Wade guide him down onto the mattress, lifted up to let Wade scoot a couple of pillows beneath his hips, and tried not to pass out from arousal as Wade got situated behind him. This was Peter’s favorite. Okay, he had a lot of favorites, but this was one of them. 

He held out as long as he could with Wade’s sweet lips and tongue getting all of the come off of his thighs and ass. When Wade’s rough fingers parted his cheeks and Wade’s tongue started lapping at his sore, stretched out hole, pushing into him, Peter had to get up to his knees. He took his own cock in his hand, supporting himself on his other elbow, and pumped for all he was worth. He thought he felt Wade laugh as he struggled to keep fucking Peter with his tongue, holding his hips as best he could. Peter came so hard he nearly cried.

Wade had pulled him down next to him and cuddled him to his chest when Peter finally opened his eyes. “We messed up your pretty dress!” he mourned, touching the delicate material of the skirt that was spattered with come.

“It’s okay, little Daddy,” Wade laughed, quietly, “it’ll wash out.”

Wade tried to coax him to stay snuggled together, but Peter insisted on getting up, made Wade take off his lovely new dress, and did his best to spot-wash it before hanging it to dry over their shower rod. When he came back to bed, Wade had stripped the gross sheets and put their spare set on the mattress.

“Fuckin’ heater,” Wade groused as he bundled Peter back under their bed covers. 

“’S okay,” Peter said, trying not to let his teeth chatter, “it just decides not to work sometimes.”

They had moved into Peter’s tiny apartment together. Wade and Doreen and Gabby’s rent had gone up, and the ladies had moved in with Gabby’s mom, who Peter had met and thought was awesome. Wade had insisted on buying an actual bed, but that was the only upgrade they had made.

“I could get us a better place,” Wade said, low voice rumbling in his chest against Peter’s ear.

“We’ll get a space heater,” Peter said. “I love this place, it’s our place.”

Wade was quiet for a moment. “I could do one job,” he then said, tentatively, “and buy a new heating system for this whole building. Everybody would be warm.”

Peter lifted his head to look at his husband. Wade didn’t look angry or frustrated, just – wistful, kind of sad. “I could send you to grad school,” he said, fingers stroking through Peter’s hair. “I wish you’d let me.”

Peter laid a kiss in the middle of Wade’s chest, his lips brushing the ridged scars there. “I’ll get to grad school,” he said. “I promise. I’ll start applying after New Year’s. Okay?”

Wade looked like he wanted to say a great deal more, but he sighed instead. They’d had this talk. They were very poor, even with Peter’s classy job, even though Wade had pretty easily landed a job as a short-order cook. They had what they needed, but it was still scary. But it was also how most people’s lives were – precarious, contingent. 

“Thank you for not leaving me to go do dangerous things,” Peter said. It was all he usually said when this subject came up, because the only way Wade could respond was to hold him close and kiss him, which was exactly what he did now. Peter got to sleep fairly quickly in spite of the cold, as Wade was like an electric blanket with a heartbeat.

*~*~*

Peter snuck out of May’s living room as she saw off the last of her party guests. He found Wade back in the bedroom, sitting stiffly on May’s bed that still held a few bags and jackets.

“I have been touched,” Wade said, “by so many middle-aged Italian-American women this evening.”

Concern welled in Peter’s chest. “Like in a bad way?”

“No,” Wade said, breaking into an easy grin. “They’re all adorable. And oh so drunk.”

“So you’re not disappointed we didn’t go to the Stark Tech party?” Peter teased, setting his camera down on the bed.

Wade gave him a look, and Peter laughed. Wade then took his hand and pulled Peter to stand between his knees, kissing him. They stayed like that for a long moment – until May’s hilarious nurse friends came to retrieve their jackets and found them. There were some polite hoots and aws.

“Thank you so much for taking pictures, sweetie,” May said as Peter and Wade helped her with the dishes. “And Wade, thank you for entertaining everyone, I know they can be a bit much—“

Wade shrugged. “Giant, disabled vet with massive scarring – I’m like a human party trick.”

May looked horrified, and Wade had to hug her extra tightly to convince her that he was just kidding. Peter laughed – May would get used to his husband’s humor. It was really very similar to hers.

“I wish I could come to the shelter tomorrow night,” May sighed as they gathered their stuff to leave.

“You have to work in an ER on Christmas Eve,” Peter reminded, kissing her on the cheek. “That counts as social action.”

“And you’ll be here bright and early on Christmas Day, right?” May teased, hugging them both. “Jumping on the bed at five AM, just like old times?”

“You little monster,” Wade feigned horror as May giggled and Peter groaned. “I’ll keep him away until at least nine, May, I promise.”

“You two sleep in as long as you want,” May said, giving Peter a sweet, knowing smile. “Enjoy your first Christmas Eve together.”

Peter felt Wade glance at him. They would enjoy their Christmas Eve, if everything went like it was supposed to. And it would definitely be romantic, if not quite in the way May imagined.

Part of Peter wanted to ask her to send them good thoughts, but they had made a pact. She wouldn’t know anything about that part of their lives. She would never have a reason to worry for them. Peter settled for giving her an extra hug and kiss before they left.

*~*~*

“ _ The wind began to switch, the house, to pitch! And suddenly the hinges started to, unhitch _ —“

Preston sighed as Doreen, Gabby, Wanda, and her children sang loudly behind her.

“You did tell them they were allowed to sing through the whole thing,” Wade reminded her as he stirred a giant pot full of turkey gravy, “since we can’t watch it tonight.”

“I underestimated how much of  _ Wizard of Oz  _ they know by heart,” Preston admitted as she and Peter crumbled cornbread for dressing, “which, in retrospect, was very silly of me.”

Peter laughed as his friends continued singing through “Ding Dong the Witch is Dead” while preparing a giant Christmas Day meal in the homeless shelter’s kitchen. He did wish May was with them, as she would be having a ton of fun, especially since the kiddos were around.

“Peter, do you think these are enough potatoes?” Ellie asked him.

Peter nearly choked on his own air, partly because Ellie was paying attention to him, and partly because she was standing next to a huge pile of potatoes with a large knife.

“Why don’t we switch jobs?” he suggested, gently.

“She’s actually pretty great with a knife,” Wade said as Preston laughed. “But maybe the food processor would be better, don’t you think, baby girl?”

Ellie’s eyes lit up, and Peter helped her arrange the giant food processor as his heart tried to process an inundation of warm fuzzies. He was so happy that Wade was getting to spend Christmas Eve with his little girl.

Betty and Ned showed up to drop off giant vats of cobbler that they’d made at home, so they all took a break from cooking (and singing) to pose for a group picture.

“Are you posting that?” Preston asked as Peter tapped on his phone.

“Yep,” he replied, returning to helping Ellie with the potato pile. “And I made sure to repost the article about de Blasio giving incentives to commercial housing developers right after it.”

Wade barked a laugh as he wrestled one of three giant turkeys into a bag. “Because we wouldn’t need homeless shelters if people could afford to, like, have homes – great job, baby.”

“Speaking of,” Preston said, looking to make sure that her kids were helping Shane with green beans, “you two have everything you need for tonight?”

“Yep,” Wade answered, giving her a significant look. 

Preston nodded, looking both of them directly in the eyes in turn. “I’ll be up putting together a toy race track if you get in a jam.”

Peter nodded, seriously. He was reminded of the first time he met Preston, at the protest, when she’d made him feel both intimidated and confident at once. What they were going to do was stupid, dangerous, and important, and she had their backs.

“Peter, I love Betty and Ned,” Gabby interrupted his thoughts. “They’re just so cute and married, thank you for bringing them to us.”

“We’re cute and married,” Wade reminded, slinging an arm around Peter’s shoulders.

“You know I mean they’re cute for straight people,” Gabby rolled her eyes at him.

“Don’t even start that with us,” Wanda said, gesturing at Wade with a large spoon. “We had to work all fucking summer to get you two idiots together.”

“And then!” Doreen jumped in, potato-masher in hand. “You buttholes got stupid married and didn’t even invite us!”

Preston burst into hysterical laughter as Doreen, Gabby, and Wanda all started complaining at once about having to coordinate their movements so carefully, about how Wade and Peter had kept looking like they were a done deal and then screwing it up and making each other cry for days on end, how they almost gave up a few times but then bravely carried on.

Peter stood, dumbstruck. He turned to look at Wade, who looked equally dumbstruck. Ellie and Jeff just laughed delightedly because the grownups were saying swears.

“Well, we’re getting a divorce now,” Peter said, recovering from his shock, “just to spite you people for manipulating us.”

He dodged as Wanda tried to whap him with her giant spoon. It wasn’t until much later, when he was helping her make ten gallons of punch and had forgotten all about the danger, that she finally got him, right on the ass. She giggled so much that Peter was afraid she would pass out, and soon after that Preston declared it was time for everyone to go home and get some sleep.

“I’ll be up,” Preston said, giving both Wade and Peter another serious look before leaving with her family.

“You’re not too slap-happy to be our Guy in the Van, are you?” Wade teased Wanda.

“I’ll be your Lady Monitoring Remotely From Her Apartment,” Wanda corrected, giving Wade a hug. “And I’ll have some coffee. Be very careful, please.”

Peter wrapped her up in a big hug. “Thank you for manipulating us into falling in love and getting married.”

Wanda giggled again and kissed him on the cheek.

*~*~*

Peter was shocked at how calm he felt the entire time they were on the construction site. He did his jobs, cut the wires he was supposed to cut, and found that he was done with a little time to spare. Wanda had suggested they get done within ten minutes, and she hadn’t texted him with any new instructions so far. He looked out from the cab of the giant bulldozer (at least he thought it was a bulldozer – some kind of big earth-moving machine) to see his husband standing at the base, waiting for him.

“We’re supposed to meet on the other side of the site,” Peter reminded in a low voice, letting Wade help him climb down the giant tread.

“I know,” Wade shrugged, and Peter could feel his wry smile even through the black material that covered his mouth. “It’s just a very big machine and you’re a very small man.”

“I have been working out,” Peter hissed, quietly, as they made their way quickly back through the cut fence.

They never saw the one guard who was on duty. They made it three blocks away and up a fire escape and heard no sirens. Bless Wanda and her remote monitoring skills.

“Do you think that’ll make a difference?”

Wade shrugged, taking a bite of his empanada. They had left their black clothing in a dumpster to pick up later and found the one food truck in Queens that was still open for late-night Christmas Eve customers. Now, they were perched on a rooftop of an apartment building, careful to make sure they couldn’t be spotted from below, looking out at the cityscape.

“The equipment will take time and money to fix,” Wade said. “It won’t stop them, but it’ll definitely irritate them. I don’t know if it’ll be enough to stop commercial development in a city with a sky-rocketing homelessness rate, but—“

“People will notice, though,” Peter said, leaning into Wade’s side. “Like when we sat down in the street, that was to catch people’s attention, right?”

Wade smiled and leaned back against him. “I didn’t actually get to sit down,” Wade reminded. “I was punching Nazis.”

“And saving twinks from cops,” Peter laughed, softly. They were quiet for a moment. This was, so far, Peter’s favorite part of being with Wade – the moments when they sat quietly and just thought separately about how much they loved each other.

“The first time I looked at you, you smiled at me,” Wade said.

Peter turned to Wade, and Wade looked down at him with those gorgeous blue eyes. Peter remembered their eyes meeting across a community hall, all those months ago, and how he’d instinctively smiled. They stared at each other until they couldn’t stand how gross they were and started laughing.

“We’d better get home if we’re going to jump on May’s bed at five AM,” Peter said. He started to stand, but Wade stopped him with a hand on his arm.

“I know it’s against the rules,” he said, sheepishly, “but I got you a tiny present.”

Peter took the little envelope Wade handed him and opened it to find a gift certificate for Flogging 101, signed with Shiklah’s loopy signature.

“She’s giving us a huge discount,” Wade said, “because she adores you.”

“You brought a gift card for your husband to take a BDSM class,” Peter said, “to an act of civil disobedience?”

“It’s a gift for both of us, really,” Wade laughed, returning the hug Peter wrapped him in. “And I prefer to call it an act of fighting evil.”

Peter held Wade’s hand all the way back to their tiny apartment. They didn’t want to risk taking the train, so it was a bit of a slog, but neither of them minded. 

Wade fell asleep almost as soon as they got into bed. Peter checked their Antifa group’s page to see that some Alt Right asshole had left comments all over his recent posts, spewing fake facts about how there wasn’t actually a housing crisis and most homeless people were homeless by choice. He deleted the posts and stuffed his phone under his pillow, but he was so angry his heart pounded in his ears. 

It’s okay to be angry, Peter thought. It’s good to be angry – if you’re not angry, you don’t care. The voice in his head sounded very Wade-like, but Wade was snoring peacefully next to him. Peter turned towards him, nudged Wade a little until he changed position and his snoring quieted down. Peter smiled to himself and thought about getting up the next day and doing it all over again, finding something else to be angry about, figuring out something to do about it. With Wade. He eventually fell fast asleep.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OOF this is bittersweet! Writing this story has been so wonderful and I have gotten to learn so many things and talk to so many amazing people because of it. Thank you ALL for reading and being patient with my inconsistent posting schedule!
> 
> Here's the Wizard of Oz song referenced in this chapter: https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=0RHsb9LnD9Q
> 
> I shall new return to my Domestikink universe where I have many many kinky fills waiting to be written, but I shall MISS THESE BOYS!!!! <33333

**Author's Note:**

> I hope that was fun! I'm planning on posting a new chapter at least once a week while still doing Domesti-kink posts and writing my Big Bang story. But I totes know what happens and I will finish this, mark you!
> 
> Got ideas/questions/want to chat? Tumble me! crockzilla.tumblr.com


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